


Looking Out For Number One

by CindySin



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Billy gives you what you need, Biting, Car Sex, Cheating, Consensual Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Long One Shot, Not a one-shot anymore, One Shot, Oral Sex, Pleasure/Pain, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Punishment Sex, Revenge Sex, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Short One Shot, Spanking, Writer’s Second Fic, series of One-shots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:54:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 46,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23055037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CindySin/pseuds/CindySin
Summary: Steve Harrington has pissed you off. Billy gives you exactly what you need.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Reader, Steve Harrington/Reader
Comments: 31
Kudos: 158





	1. Looking Out For Number One

Loud. The music is loud, vibrating through the wall as you sit on the edge of the tub in Steve’s bathroom. A tear falls from your chin and lands on the skin of your thigh, just below the hem of your dress. You brush it away. Why does he have to do this every time he’s drunk? Why does he have to speak to you like shit?

The doorknob turns and the door rattles in the frame. A voice, asking if there’s anyone in there. You tell them you’ll be a minute. You stand, sighing and straightening yourself out, check your make up in the mirror. Wipe away the black smears under your eyes. You’ll do.

You flick the lock and open the door. Billy stands in the doorway. His stupid, shit eating grin on his stupid face. His eyes drop to your tits, they way they look in the dress you picked so carefully tonight because you know Steve likes it when you dress a certain way. You cross your arms over your chest, tell Billy to fuck off. He frowns a little, reaches out with his thumb, wipes a trace of mascara you missed from the side of your eye. He asks if you’ve been crying, and suddenly tears threaten to fall again. You don’t want him to see you, so you pull the light cord next to you and in the darkness you tell him to leave you alone, trying to step into the bedroom behind him. Billy doesn’t move, and suddenly you’re chest to chest with him. You can feel the heat of his body, his bare chest showing in his unbuttoned shirt, pressed against your front, but your nipples harden as though he’s made of ice. You can smell him, cigarette smoke and cinnamon, some cologne he’s wearing. He smells good, and for a few seconds you’re lost in his scent. You come to your senses, try to step backwards away from him, but his hand is pressed to the small of your back and suddenly his lips are on yours, soft and warm. You’re surprised that you’re kissing him back, opening your mouth to him, letting him brush your tongue with his. He tastes of cheap liquor and mint, gum or toothpaste, you can’t tell. His hand cups your jaw, firm and gentle at the same time, and you moan a little at his touch. He smiles into your kiss. You pull him back into the bathroom by his shirt, he kicks the door shut behind his back, and then he’s pushing you up against the wall, framed in the moonlight pouring through the window. You can feel the music. Your hands are all over him now, trailing over his chest, his arms, cupping his dick, hard inside his jeans. You take his hand and press it to your pussy, under your dress. Your panties are wet already, and when he feels it he laughs. You tell him to shut up and bite his lip as you kiss him, and he hisses at you, kissing you back, urgent and wanting. His fingers are inside your underwear now, exploring your slick swollen folds, rubbing your clit and then they’re inside you and you gasp against his neck and clench around them. You shake your head and tell him to fuck you, not with these, with _this_ , and you squeeze his dick through his pants. He laughs again but this time you don’t care, because Billy’s fingers are moving inside you and he’s unzipping his pants. Of course he’s not wearing any underwear. You feel him stroke himself once, twice, and then his fingers leave you as he lifts your leg and rubs the head of his cock against your dripping cunt, your panties pulled aside. Your foot finds the edge of the tub, the spot you sat crying about Steve not even five minutes ago, and then you cry out as he thrusts his full length into you, hard, as he lifts you, presses you to the wall, his hand under your ass. You’ve barely processed how fucking good his cock feels in you, how full you feel, stretched around him in a pleasurable burning sensation, and he’s pulling out and pushing into you again and you cry out again. His teeth graze your shoulder and you hear yourself saying yes, telling him to bite you, and he does, hard enough to leave a perfect indentation of his teeth, and the whole time he’s fucking you hard, pounding into your tight wet cunt. His fingers slip the strap of your dress from your shoulder, pull down the front on one side. His thumb and finger pinch your nipple and you gasp, his name falling from your lips. He likes that, you can tell, you feel his lips curve into a smile against your neck and so you say it again as he thrusts, Billy Billy Billy, chanting it like a spell. It occurs to you that Steve has never made you come. You don’t mind, the sex is okay without it, but you still go to the bathroom and finish yourself off after he’s asleep. You won’t need to do that with Billy, it’s been building in you since he first put his cock in you, and now you’re on the edge, ready to fall into the chasm. It’s not like this with Steve. Steve makes love, slow and steady. Billy fucks, fast and hard, pounding into you furiously. He whispers into your ear, tells you to come for him. You realise _he’s_ about to come, he can’t hide it in his wavering voice, and so you step off the edge and let yourself fall, waves of sheer pleasure washing over you. You feel yourself clench around his cock and he grunts, and suddenly he’s twitching within you and spilling inside you and you didn’t think you could feel any more pleasure but your orgasm intensifies, your eyes roll back and you resume your chant from earlier, Billy Billy Billy. It subsides, and your eyes meet his in the darkness, your bodies still touching, him still hard inside you. You’re panting, both of you, breathless from your fuck against the wall, and you hate how empty you feel when he pulls out of you, still looking you in the eye in the light of the moon. He pulls your panties back into place and as his hand leaves you he draws his thumb down over your clit on top of the material and you moan. He smiles like before. He zips himself up as you pull your dress back into place, and he leaves without a word. You follow after a minute, and as you descend the stairs you feel his seed trickling out of you, soaking your panties, sticky between your thighs. Steve is in the hallway. He asks you where you’ve been, his eyes noticing the teeth marks on your shoulder and dismissing them. You can barely hear him over the music. You’re still pissed off with him, so you play with fire and you say you were fucking Billy. He frowns a little, tells you he can’t hear you. A little louder, you tell him you were being silly. The frown clears. He steers you towards the kitchen, his arm around your shoulders, and Billy winks at you from where he stands, leaning against the wall with a beer. 


	2. Cruising For A Piece Of Fun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be a one-shot fiction, but it’s stuck in my head and I found myself writing more. No fluff, just smut and two people getting what they want from each other.

As you cross the parking lot you can feel his eyes on you. Watching you from behind the aviators he wears, crawling all over your body. It’s been a week and a half since he fucked you against the wall in Steve’s bathroom. The longest week and a half, and you’ve pleasured yourself thinking about it almost every night since. You want it again. Him again. He knows it too. You’ve been teasing him without words ever since. Wearing clothes you know will make him look at you. He’s been teasing you back. Three days after the bathroom, you bent over in front of him in math to pick up a pen you’d dropped, giving him an eyeful of your tits, pushed up in the blouse you’d worn knowing how it made them look. When you stood up your eyes met his. The tip of his tongue between his teeth. A few days later when you handed out books in class his fingers had purposefully brushed yours as you passed one to him and you’d bitten your lip at the spark it shot through your body to your core. He’d smirked. Then yesterday you reached past him in the cafeteria, your chest pushed up against his arm, your nipples hardening on contact with him. He watched you as you did it, his mouth open just a little. You winked as you walked away. Later that afternoon he’d squeezed past you in the packed hallway, and he’d pressed his crotch against your ass as he did it, his hand on your hip, and you’d gasped out loud at the feel of his hard cock through his jeans and your skirt. Steve had turned to you, questioning with his eyes. Billy was gone. You told him you bit your tongue. Last night you’d mouthed Billy’s name into Steve’s chest wordlessly as he made love to you. You didn’t come, but once he was asleep you’d snaked your hand under the covers and brought yourself off, thinking about Billy. And now he’s watching you. A cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. You climb into your car, start it up, pull out of your space. You stop briefly in front of his Camaro as he leans on it. Gesture with your head for him to follow you. As you leave the parking lot you check your mirror. His Camaro is behind you. You smile.

You sit in the passenger seat of his car. He’s watching you. He asks why you let him fuck you in the bathroom. You tell him you wanted to. He asks if you want to now. You say yes. He reaches between your legs, pulls the lever to slide your seat all the way back, and then he climbs over, kneels in the footwell in front of you. He reaches down the side of your seat, fiddles with something and then you’re laying almost flat as your seat reclines. His hands are on your legs, moving up your thighs. He’s pushing your skirt up, bunches it around your waist. Your panties are soaked already, just like before. There’s a spreading wet patch on them and he eyes it as he brushes his index finger down over your clit on top of the wet material, stopping right over your entrance. He hooks the material to the side and the cold air on your wetness makes you shiver slightly. Billy never takes his eyes off your swollen folds. He runs his finger between them and you arch your back slightly and moan a little, a moan that turns into a gasp as he pushes that finger into you. He tells you you’re so wet and you laugh a little at his tone of surprise. He thrusts his finger into you hard, cutting your laughter off, turning it into a moan of pleasure. He asks you if you like that. You nod. He does it again, once, twice, three times, fucking you with his finger. You clench around it and lift your hips. You tell him you want him to fuck you. He shakes his head. Not yet he tells you, a smirk on his lips as he pulls out his finger. He slips your panties down over your thighs and you draw your knees up so he can take them off completely. Once they’re gone, abandoned in the footwell, you spread your legs for him, your feet pressed to the doorframe and the dashboard behind him, opening yourself up to him. Still smirking, he spreads you open with his fingers and bites his lip. He pushes his finger back into you, slowly, watching it sink into you. He wants the Queen of Hawkins High to beg he says as he adds a second finger to the first. Your eyes roll back. You’ll never beg. His other hand is unbuttoning your blouse, and he realises you’re not wearing a bra. He grabs your breast, kneading it in his hand, his fingertips digging into your flesh as his other hand fucks you. He rolls your nipple in his fingers and pinches it and you cry out. He asks you if you like that. Yes you breathe. Tell me he says. So you tell him. You tell him you like it when he makes it hurt. He smiles, and his fingers are pinching again, twisting. You come out of nowhere, your back arching and your cunt clamping down on his fingers as he thrusts into you. His hand is drenched in your juices. You ask him to fuck you again. You say please this time. He shakes his head again. His fingers are stroking now, stroking your wet folds, moving over your clit, dancing over your pussy, brushing lower, over the puckered hole just below it. You stiffen slightly and Billy grins. He asks you if Steve has ever fucked you here as he presses down with his finger a little and you swallow as you shake your head. He asks if he’s tried to. You shake your head again and Billy laughs. He should he tells you, still teasing with his finger. He tells you you’d like it, if it’s done properly. Maybe I will someday he says, tilting his head to the side and raising an eyebrow in question and you hear yourself whispering maybe. He smiles. His fingers trail back up and begin a slow circular pattern around and over your clit. Why me Billy asks, watching himself touch you. You moan softly. He asks again as he moves his fingers away, and you thrust your hips forward in search of them. You were just there you tell him, and his fingers resume their play. He asks you what you mean. You tell him you fucked him because you wanted to get back at Steve as you roll your head back, losing yourself in the pleasure he’s giving you. He asks you if Steve does this. Sometimes you whisper. Billy asks you if Steve makes you come. You shake your head. Billy frowns. Never he asks? Never you tell him. Billy’s fingers quicken, as if determined to do what Steve has never done, to outdo him. You moan and shudder under his fingers. He asks you if Steve knows you fucked him in his bathroom. You ask him again to fuck you. Please you tell him. Please fuck me. You tell him you need him inside you, that you want him. You’re begging, and then he’s inside you, filling you, fucking you, his cock stretching you open around him. You cry out. His lips are on your nipple, and then his teeth, biting and tugging. I knew you’d beg he tells you. You moan loudly, tell him to shut up and fuck you. He does. He pounds into you, over and over, his thumb on your clit and his mouth around your nipple and you’re coming, clenching around him and scratching his shoulders with your nails. He slows a little. Does Steve know he asks you again, a finger tracing the place he left the perfect print of his teeth, long since vanished. You shake your head again. You ask him why he keeps asking about Steve. Deep down you know why. He wants Steve to know. He wants Steve to know that he’s fucked his girlfriend, you, that he’s had the Queen of Hawkins High, that he’s fucked you and made you come and done things to you that Steve has never done, talked about doing things that Steve would never want to, and you liked it. You wanted it. You wanted him, Billy Hargrove, Hawkins bad boy, even if just for a fuck. You don’t even hear his answer, you don’t need to. You know. You take his hand from your hip, move it up to your throat, put it there with your hand over it and you squeeze a little. You look into his eyes and tell him to fuck you. The words are barely out of your mouth when he’s leaning into you, pushing your knees back into your chest and his hand is tight around your throat and his cock, oh Jesus his cock is so fucking deep in you you think you might cry. He’s fucking you furiously and you can barely breathe, and then his fingers tighten and you can’t, and he’s still fucking you deeper and harder than you’ve ever been screwed by Steve and it hurts in the best way but you still want more. Your lips move soundlessly and just as your eyes roll back and your orgasm peaks you hear him cry out, his name on your lips without sound, and he’s coming in you, his cock twitching and jerking in your cunt as you tighten around him like his hand around your throat. Just when you think you might pass out he lets go and the air hurtles into your lungs, cold and painful, prickling like needles. He pulls out and you feel so empty you ache. He wipes your pussy with your panties, wiping away the trickle of his seed as it spills out of you, and then he tucks them into his pants pocket. For later he tells you with a wink. You shuffle your skirt down as Billy climbs back into his own seat. Without a word you leave him there, getting back into your own car. You don’t look back as you drive away.


	3. Kind Of Buzz That Lasts For Days

You’re just about to leave the changing rooms when you see him, out of the corner of your eye. It makes you jump, and you drop your bag. He laughs, and you snap at him, ask him what the fuck he’s doing here. You’ve had a late cheerleading practice, there’s a competition coming up, and you’ve had all the girls in going over routines every night this week. He tells you he was watching, waiting for you to be alone as he walks towards you. Everyone else is long gone, and you know exactly what he wants. You want it too. He’s circled behind you and now he’s so close you can feel his breath on the back of your neck, hot. You’re still in your kit, you decided you’d shower at home, and Billy runs his fingers down the backs of your bare arms. Your hair stands on end. His lips brush your ear and his voice is low as he tells you he’s going to fuck you right here. You tell him Steve is waiting for you outside, he’s picking you up, and Billy grabs your wrists, pulls them behind you, grips them in one hand. He says a single word, good, and then he bites your neck. You cry out, and then he’s licking the spot where his teeth almost broke the skin, soothing it with his tongue. You’re breathless already. His empty hand caresses your thigh, working its way around your front, and he lifts your skirt enough to slip his hand into the top of your undershorts and under your panties. His fingers find your clit and you moan loudly as he traps it between two of them, pinching it and pulling, and at the same time he presses himself into you and you can feel his rock hard cock digging into your ass cheek through his jeans. You lean your head back into his shoulder and he’s kissing your neck, wet warm kisses as he teases your clit, and for some reason you’re suddenly thinking of how those kisses would feel between your legs. Good, you know they’d feel good. You decide you’ll find out sometime, but that time isn’t tonight. Tonight you just want his cock in you. You drag your head away from him and lean forward a little, pushing your ass into his crotch, your wrists still clamped in his vice like grip, and you ask if he wants to fuck you. He answers by thrusting his crotch forwards, and your knees hit the bench in the middle of the aisle between the lockers. You rest one on it and bend further forward. Fuck me Billy you breathe, and then his fingers are gone and you can hear his zipper. He peels your undershorts and panties down together to your knees, and you hear him moan as he sees your pussy from behind, wet swollen folds of pink skin just peeking out between your legs. He brushes them with something, you can’t tell if it’s a finger or the tip of his cock. He runs it up and down your sodden slit, and as he presses it between your folds you realise it’s far too big to be his finger. He’s still teasing you, running it all the way down to your clit, then all the way back up, over the smooth skin above your cunt, and suddenly it’s pressed against your ass. You stiffen, like you did when he touched you there with his finger in his car, but it feels good as well, and you push back a little, teasing him back. Billy moans. Not tonight princess he tells you, still pressed against your tight hole. We’ll do that properly another night he says, and you realise you want that. Then he’s gone, and suddenly he slaps your ass cheek with his open palm and you call out, the slap ringing in your ears and your skin stinging and he’s caressing it softly, stroking the sting away. He tells you you’re a naughty girl and you laugh and ask him why, except the end of the word is lost in a cry of pleasure as he plunges his cock into you from behind. He fills you completely, your cunt burns from the stretching sensation and your ass tingles from the slap and your neck aches from his bite and all you want is more. More of his cock, more of his slaps, more of his teeth, more of his pain, more of him. Because you like this he tells you, and then he pulls out of you slowly and moans your name. You’re so fucking tight he tells you, and then he plunges into you again and you almost scream at the sensation. Your hands are numb because he’s squeezing your wrists so hard and your pussy is burning and you want him to fuck you so hard you can’t walk afterward. Please you whimper, and he laughs again breathlessly. Please what he asks you, and you hate the way your voice whines as you beg him to fuck you. He asks you if you want it hard and fast. Yes Billy you say, please Billy, and then he’s pounding into you, one hand on your hip and the other pulling your arms that you can barely feel, and you’re already coming around him, falling apart as he slams his cock into you so hard it hurts. His balls are slapping you between the legs and his fingers are digging into your skin and he’s shouting that he’s coming and you come again, your orgasms overlapping and your thoughts scrambled by the sheer pleasure. The only part of your body you can feel is your cunt, full of him, and he’s twitching in you as he softens. His cock slips out of you, leaving a wet trail over the back of your thigh, and you give yourself a second to feel steady enough to move. You straighten up and feel his warmth spill out of you a little. Steve never comes in you, he always pulls out and spends on your stomach, and you never minded, but Billy always finishes in you and you like it, you like feeling it trickle down your thigh. You pull your panties and shorts up and hiss as the fabric brushes your pussy, you’re sore and it feels delicious, that pain. You turn around. Billy’s gone. Somehow you knew he would be. You press your thighs together as you pick up your bag, revelling in the sensitivity between your legs and when you climb into Steve’s car outside you’ll hiss in pain again and he’ll ask if you’re okay and you’ll say never better, just sore, and it won’t be a lie. Later he’ll ask about the bruises on your wrists and the mark on your neck as he lays over you, and you’ll tell him you did them in practice, and you’ll bite your tongue to keep Billy’s name in your mouth as he loves you, and it will hurt because of Billy, and you’ll come with Steve for the first time, but not because of Steve, but because Billy fucked you raw, and now everything will hurt in the way you like it to for days.


	4. I Need You Tonight, Cos I’m Not Sleeping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can probably guess from the title, but this was written while INXS - Need You Tonight was playing. It seemed like the perfect song to be playing in the club scene while they were dancing.

You’re using each other, for the same reasons. At least, it started out that way. That first time, in Steve’s bathroom, when you fucked against the wall, Steve had hurt you with words, and you wanted to hurt him back, even if he didn’t know. You wanted to know that you had one over on him. Billy wants to push Steve from his throne, the King of Hawkins High. And what better way to do it than to fuck his Queen? And so he did. It’s your dirty little secret, yours and Billy’s. You play with fire together. Billy marks you, with his hands and his teeth, not caring if it’s hidden. You're sure that’s why he comes inside you, he’s claiming you as his own. Not because he loves you, not out of romance. But because he wants to own you, to possess you, simply because you belong to Steve. High school sweethearts, together since you were 14. You were each other’s firsts, and you’ve never looked further than being each other’s only. But then there was Billy. You don’t feel anything for him, other than lust. You don’t love him. You don’t even like him. But you want him all the same. He satisfies a hunger in you that you didn’t know you had. Maybe he woke it the night he took you for the first time. Steve isn’t enough anymore. He’s too nice, too soft and vanilla. At least, he is when he isn’t drunk and shooting his mouth off. He’s everything that Billy isn’t. Billy is rough, and raw, he is pain and power. He’s the anti-Steve. He doesn’t ask for permission. He takes what he wants, but he doesn’t make you feel unsafe. You know he’d stop if you told him to. You don’t though. You tell him harder. Faster. Deeper. You pleasure yourself while you think of him, of what he does to you. You find excuses to touch him at school, seemingly innocently, and then you find ways to touch him not so innocently, unnoticed by everyone but him. You’ll make sure your fingers or hands touch as you pass him things in class, delighting in the way his pupils dilate as he savours your skin on his. You’ve always got an excuse to bend over in front of him, knowing he’s watching your ass in your tight dresses and skirts, or looking down your shirt at your perfect tits. You made a point of putting your feet up on a chair a few days ago, and the way he dragged his eyes up your bare legs to the hem of your shorts made your nipples tingle and tighten. You lick your lips and bite them when you catch him watching you. And then there’s the times when you’ve done more, when you've gotten away with grabbing the bulge in his pants as you pass him in a crowded hallway, or the afternoon you watched a video tape about something distinctly uninteresting in a darkened classroom, and you made sure you were sitting next to him at the back of the room so you could jerk him off under the table until he spilt over your hand and in his pants. You’ve danced your hand across his back under your tray in the cafeteria, and once, on a day when you were feeling particularly ballsy, you took off your panties in the bathroom at lunch and tucked them into Billy’s pocket as his jacket hung on the back of his chair in Math when you passed. You watched for his little frown as he put his hand in his pocket at the end of class, saw him start to pull them out before he realised what they were and stuffed them back in. When he turned to you slowly, you winked, and still seated in your chair you uncrossed your legs and crossed them again, knowing he could see straight up your skirt. The next day you found them in your locker, with a note in his scrawled writing. He’d jerked off last night, thinking of you in nothing but these. You slammed the locker door shut before Steve could see them and wondered how Billy had managed to get into it. The thrill of getting away with it all, of wondering if you’ll get caught, that thrill turns you on. You like to play with fire.

It’s been a while since the changing rooms. You’ve been busy, with competitions and practice. You’re itching for Billy again. Last night you asked Steve to go down on you, surprising him. He licked at you lazily for a few minutes before he climbed on top of you. You wonder how you were ever satisfied by him. You need Billy. You know that some people from school are going to a club a few towns away tonight. Steve isn’t going, he’s got some fancy dinner with his dad’s business partner, but you've got no plans and a good fake ID. Now all you need is Billy. You strike up a conversation with Carol in the hallway, make sure Billy’s in earshot when you tell her you’re going and that Steve can’t make it. You know he’s listening. You know he’ll be there.

You’re dancing when you see him. The music is loud, just like at Steve’s party, but this time _you’re_ the one who’s been drinking. You’re not drunk, but you’re relaxed and enjoying yourself, and when you see him watching you across the crowded dance floor you smile. He’s wearing a red shirt, deep blood red, and of course it’s unbuttoned almost to the bottom. You know how that chest feels pressed against you, how it feels under your hands, and your nipples harden at the memory. His jeans are tight, even tighter than the ones he wears to school, and you can practically see the outline of his cock through them. You wonder how you take it all, and then you wonder how much you could take in your mouth. You decide you’ll find out later. There’s no wonder the eyes of every woman in here are on him, looking at him, whispering to their friends about him, biting their lips. They all want him, and it’s no surprise, he looks like a fucking god, a statue of a Greek god sculpted from marble. And you get to fuck him. A blonde haired woman approaches him, talks into his ear with her hand on his chest. Billy shakes his head. She pouts and says something else, drags her finger down his skin. He grips her hand and and pulls it off him, shakes his head again. She walks away, looking at you with daggers in her eyes. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you yet and she knew it. The music changes and he knocks back his drink then makes his way over to you, where you’re dancing, watched by a group of men at the bar. They’re watching you dance, your long legs bare under a leather mini skirt.You can feel the beat in your chest, and you circle your hips in time to it, your arms in the air. His hand brushes your waist from behind, and then you can feel him pressed against you. You never miss a beat as you rub your self against him, leaning back into his chest, his breath a hot whisper on your neck and your cheek. You tangle a hand into his hair and bend your knees, dropping down a little and then straightening up slowly, pushing your ass into his crotch. You hear him moan a little and you smile. His hand is on your hip now and he’s nuzzling into your neck, nipping you with his teeth as you dance, just you and him lost in the music. You slip a hand between your bodies and grab his cock through his trousers and over the music you hear him groan. You turn on the spot slowly, still dancing, until you’re face to face, your bodies pressed together and your arms over his shoulders and your foreheads touching. His hands are on both your hips now and one of his legs is between yours, his thigh pressed between them, and he must be able to feel your heat through his jeans, the way he’s looking at you. You grind against him and the friction feels incredible so you do it again, harder. He realises what you’re doing and pushes back with his leg as you rub yourself against him and before you know it you’re on the verge of an orgasm right here on the dance floor, and nobody else but Billy knows it. He moves his hands up your waist and then he’s holding you but brushing your nipples through your top with his thumbs, barely moving but it’s enough to send you over the edge, and then you’re coming, and it’s a good job the music is so loud because you’re sure you cried out his name as you peaked, drowned out by the beat. You open your eyes and Billy is still watching you, burning hunger on his face. You ignore the stares of the people on the dance floor around you, women who wish they were you and men who wish they were Billy. You can’t wait any longer. You take his hand in yours, turn slowly on unsteady legs, and pull him across the club behind you, following you outside.


	5. Your Sex Is On Fire

You push him up against the wall behind the club, his back to the brickwork. One of your hands is twisted in his hair, pulling it just enough to hurt a little, the other unbuckling his belt, and then unbuttoning his pants. You wonder whether to kiss him. You haven’t kissed since the first time, somehow you’ve always just fucked, the kissing an intimacy neither of you need. But tonight you want to, you’re hungry for all of him, and so you press your lips to his as you unzip his pants, pushing your tongue into his mouth and he meets it with his own, tasting you. You think again about how it would feel between your legs.  
  
You slip your hand into his pants and take hold of his cock, and he moans into your mouth as you begin to stroke it in a steady rhythm. He bites your lip hungrily, and you moan back, kissing him more urgently, devouring him with your mouth. You rub your thumb over the head of his cock, spreading the wetness that’s gathered there over it, and he shudders against you, breaking your kiss with a groan as his body writhes into you. You drop to your knees, and still holding his cock in your hand, you run your tongue up the underside of it and over the tip, tasting him, before you take it into your mouth and start sucking.  
  
Billy comes undone above you, his hands grabbing at your hair and he throws his head back and moans loudly. Your mouth and your hand are moving in perfect rhythm, stroking and sucking, and then he’s watching, you can feel his eyes on you, watching you on your knees with his dick in your mouth. You look up at him, never breaking the rhythm you’ve built up, and as you meet his eyes you take as much of him as you can into your throat.   
  
He calls out a string of curse words, fuck and shit and Jesus Christ, and you keep going, fucking your own throat with him and after a minute he’s telling you to stop, telling you he’s going to come. You hum around him, wordlessly telling him you want him to and thats when he falls apart, his head and eyes roll back and his fists tighten in your hair and he cries out gutturally as he fills your mouth.   
It’s warm, almost hot, and you’re not sure what you expected but it tastes good, almost slightly sweet and you realise you like it as you swallow. You slow right down as Billy rides out his orgasm, and only stop when he says your name, a panted whisper.   
  
You relinquish his softening cock and stand up, and you’re surprised when he pulls you to him and kisses you deeply. You’ve never let Steve finish in your mouth but even then he won’t kiss you after, tells you it’s gross, but Billy doesn’t care. He kisses down your jaw and your neck, pulling your head back by your hair, and you graze his chest with your fingernails as his other hand cups your ass cheek.   
  
He whispers into your ear, his breathing still ragged, telling you that was fucking amazing. He bites your earlobe, pulls on it with his teeth, and you moan softly. He presses his forehead to yours and asks you what time you need to be home. You shrug. You don’t have a curfew at weekends. He asks if you want to get a motel somewhere.   
  
The thought excites you, being able to undress each other and take the time to pleasure each other instead of a rushed fuck in a car or behind a club. But then that’s part of what you enjoy so much, the thrill of the forbidden, the risk of being caught, the fact that it’s not boring sex in a bed. Somehow you don’t think Billy could be boring anywhere, so you say yes. He pulls his car keys out of his pants pocket, tells you he’s parked round the corner, and you follow him, your fingers entwined with his.

———

  
You follow Billy through the motel room door and you’re surprised by how nice the room is when you look around. You unzip your skirt as Billy locks the door, and when he turns around you’re slipping it off and stepping out of it, your bottom half in nothing but a black lace thong and your heels. He steps toward you as you pull your top up over your head and drop it to the floor, and then you’re standing in front of him in just your shoes and underwear and he’s looking at you with pure lust in his eyes. 

You feel like a goddess in that moment, even more so when he drops to his knees in front of you. You sit on the edge of the bed, and when he crawls towards you put out your foot, pressing your shoe into his shoulder and he grins at you. He kisses the top of your foot, and then your ankle, your calf, moving up your leg oh so slowly with his lips, nipping at your skin with his teeth as he goes. When he reaches your knee he shifts slightly and throws both of your legs over his shoulders, your knees next to his ears, and then he resumes his travel north, sucking the flesh of your thigh into his mouth and biting, leaving it red. 

You lay back on the white sheets, your arms above your head, and enjoy the sensation of his mouth moving closer and closer to your core. He draws the tip of his tongue over your inner thigh and you can feel his breath through the lace of your panties, and then you feel his teeth through them, gently grazing your clit. You moan. He does it again, a little harder this time and your breath catches in your throat, making a high pitched squeal. He laughs, but you don’t care. 

He pulls back a little and slips his fingers under the line of your panties at your hips, tugging them down your legs and slipping them off altogether. You lean up on your elbows to watch as he slips your heels off next, one at a time, lavishing kisses on your feet with as he does it, before he rests your toes on his shoulders again, and then he pulls you right to the edge of the bed by your hips. 

His face and mouth are inches from your pussy, you can feel him breathing on you, and then he dips his head and runs his tongue up between your folds, tasting you. Your head rolls back and you moan in pleasure, your fist bunched in the sheet below you. He’s barely even started and already you want to come. You feel him spread you open with his thumbs and then his tongue is on you again, a little firmer this time, dipping into you slightly, and you curl your toes against his skin at the sensation. He sucks your clit into his mouth, needling it with his teeth and sucking on it, pushing his tongue against it once, twice, three times, and then you drop back on the bed from your elbows, reaching your hands out to tangle in his hair. This is nothing like Steve’s half-assed attempt last night, this is a guy who wants to please you and knows exactly how to do it. 

He moves a little lower, licking and sucking his way down until he curls his tongue into you and moves one hand up a little so his thumb can caress your clit as he does so, rubbing lazy circles around it and over it. You lift your hips off the bed slightly, involuntarily, the pleasure so intense you can’t quite control your body, and you pull a little harder on Billy’s hair. He fucks you a little faster with his tongue and his thumb speeds up, and then you’re telling him you’re going to come and he grabs your hips and presses his face to you hungrily, wanting you. 

You come loudly, moaning and crying out as he devours you sloppily and intensely, and when he lifts his head his chin is slick with your juices. You pull him up by his shirt and kiss him hard, tasting yourself, and you like it so much you run your tongue over his chin and push it into his mouth, swirling it with his. He tells you you taste fucking exquisite, and you blush a little, somehow that embarrassing you more than the act itself. He runs his fingers up your wet slit before he lifts them to his mouth and sucks them greedily, as if in defiance of your embarrassment and you laugh. 

He lowers his head to your stomach and kisses your warm skin, working across your body from hip to hip and then up your ribs. You squirm, your body sensitive and ticklish there and he grins, doing it just a little more. You reach under your back and unhook your bra, and he slips one strap down your arm to your elbow, leaving a trail of kisses behind it from your shoulder. He hooks his finger into the lace of the cup and pulls it down, exposing your nipple, and he wraps his tongue around it and draws it into his mouth, sucking on it. He runs his teeth over it, and then he bites down hard and you call out loudly. 

His hand slips between your legs and you spread them for him as he kneels between them, and then his fingers are in you. Two you think, if you’re capable of thought, because they feel so good your brain has given up temporarily, shutting down. He works them in and out of you as his mouth works your nipple, curling them inside you and circling your clit with his thumb just like he did before. You’re breathless by now, but you manage to pant his name and it spurs him on, his fingers moving faster, until you fall apart around him, the pleasure so intense and your heart beating so fast that you’re convinced it will give out here and now, and wouldn't that be funny for Billy to have to explain, and then you’re laughing. You can’t stop as you picture the look on Steve’s face as Billy explains he literally fucked you to death, and then you see Billy’s puzzled frown and you lose all control over your laughter. 

He lowers himself to the bed next to you with a smile on his face and waits for your laughter to subside so you can explain. You tell him, between giggles, and he smiles too, but there’s something underneath that smile. You ask him what’s wrong. He traces an invisible line up and down your stomach as he asks you why you’re doing this, why you’re here with him. You give him the same answer you did in his car that day; because you want to. He waits, wanting more, so you roll towards him and lay on your side. Now you’re the one drawing lines up and down the exposed skin of his chest with a nail. 

You tell him that the first time, in the bathroom, Steve had been a drunken dick and made you cry, that’s why you were in there, and that when he kissed you you decided to fuck him to get Steve back. Billy interrupts, you told him Steve doesn’t know, and you nod and tell him that _you_ know, and that was enough. You tell him that the car, that was because after the first time you wanted him again, you wanted him to fuck you again, make you feel the way Steve never does, same with the locker room, and that’s why you’re here tonight. 

He asks why you stay with Steve and you find yourself struggling for an answer. Comfort you tell him eventually, a small shrug on your shoulders. You explain that you’ve been together for all of high school, that you're the only person he’s been with and vice versa, that he’s nice enough and that you love him, but you’re not _in_ love with him. Not anymore, maybe you never were. But it’s easy and it’s comfortable and familiar, and so you stay. It’s just not exciting like this is you tell him. 

He looks at you, asks if this is exciting because you might get caught, or because the sex is good. Both you say. Because it’s you as well you add, and he raises an eyebrow in question. Your reputation you explain, and he snorts laughter. You smile. You tell him he’s nothing like Steve, explain that Steve is, well, Steve, a good, safe, boring choice. You could have a good, safe, boring marriage and a good, safe, boring life, having not-so-good, safe, boring sex in a comfortable, nice house with a good, safe, boring car outside. But not with you, you tell him, fiddling with his shirt buttons and then undoing them. 

You tell him that with him it’s a thrill, because he’s dangerous. A bad boy with a fast car and too many notches on his bed post, he’s the boy your parents warn you not to get involved with because he’ll never commit and then he’ll break your heart when he moves on to the next good girl. 

A sly smile dances around the corner of his mouth and you raise an eyebrow, a question unasked. He tells you you’re not a good girl. Good girls don’t dance the way you do he says, slipping a finger under the bra strap still sat on your shoulder, they don’t drink the way you do he tells you, teasing it down your arm, they don’t play with fire the way you do he continues, removing it completely now, and they definitely don’t fuck the way you do he finishes, grabbing you and pulling you on top of him as he rolls onto his back, so you end up straddling his crotch with his hands on your ass. 

You ask him why he’s doing this, here, with you, and he looks into your eyes. He tells you that when he found you in the bathroom that night he knew you’d been crying, he’d seen you arguing with Steve and storming off. So he’d waited and then he’d followed you. He’d deliberately gone after you to see if he could have you in some way, just to piss Steve off, topple his crown from his stupid hair. You laugh at that. 

He tells you that he never expected to screw you, that you’d let him, want him to, that the way you pulled him into that bathroom by his shirt and asked him to fuck you up against the wall made his head spin. And the way you tease him at school he continues, shaking his head. Girls throw themselves at him, but with you it’s different. He tells you that it’s the fact that he can’t quite have all of you. You’re just out of reach, even when you’re here like this, or in his car with his cock in you, or up against a wall outside a club with his dick in your throat, you’re never quite his, because you belong to someone else. He can have you, but he can’t _have_ you. And that’s what makes him want you more he tells you. 

He asks you if you’ve really only ever been with Steve, and you nod, frowning. You ask him why, and he smiles. The way you are when we’re together, like this he says. He runs his hands up your sides and back down your back, caressing your skin. He tells you that you don’t act like someone who has only ever had safe, boring sex with one person, one person who can’t even make you come. You laugh. You tell him about the time after the locker room, the time you were so raw and sensitive afterwards that you actually _did_ come with Steve that night, but only because of how it felt, not because of what he was doing. Billy smirks. See he says, brushing his thumbs across your nipples, I can make you come even when I’m not there. You laugh again breathlessly, leaning into his touch. 

He tells you that you fuck like someone who knows exactly what they want and how to get it, how to take it, he tells you that you’re fucking amazing, that he’s never been with someone who screws like you do. You tell him that’s only happened since the bathroom, that something came alive in you that night, awoke your sexuality and your body. You grind down onto his hard cock inside his jeans and he groans. You shift between his legs and undo his belt and pants, and then you stand at the end of the bed and pull them down his legs and off. 

Billy props himself up on his elbows and watches as you creep up the bed between his legs, kissing his thighs and nipping at them with your teeth as he hisses. He moans as you kiss your way up his balls and the underside of his cock, before you take it into your mouth and swirl your tongue around it, making him call out your name. You plant a soft wet kiss on the tip of it, and then you’re straddling him again and it’s pressed against your wet slit, so you shift ever so slightly and sink down onto it, taking his full length into you and you call out together. His hands fumble to your hips and his fingertips press into your skin and tomorrow you’ll have ten perfect round bruises, five on each hip, one for each finger and thumb. 

His eyes are pressed closed and you tell him to look at you, demanding he looks at you as you begin to ride him slowly, your hands gripping his wrists, rising and sinking onto him over and over again. He does, his eyes meeting yours as you circle your hips as you take him, your clit rubbing against his skin at the bottom of each stroke. You can feel your pleasure building inside you, heat rising from your cunt and flushing your skin, some tightly coiled spring inside you turning a little more every time Billy thrusts his hips up to meet you as you dip into his body, your extremities tingling and burning as you move a little faster, a little harder. 

You pant as you move, and you tell him you’re going to come as you feel it reaching the point of no return inside you and he groans and says him too, and then you brush a hand up your stomach and stroke your own hard nipple, pinching it between your finger and thumb. Billy grunts and cries out as he thrusts up into your hard, his eyes rolling back in his head as his mouth falls open and his cock spasms and twitches inside you as he fills you and then you’re following him and you feel yourself tighten around him and he calls out again, your head spinning and your vision cloudy, your ears ringing. 

You collapse on top of him in a heap of limbs, and he nuzzles his face into your neck, into your hair, and you wonder when you stopped not liking him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got carried away with writing this without realising and before I knew it it was almost 4000 words long. If you have any specific requests for a scene let me know and I’ll do my best to bring them to life.


	6. All That Shit Seems To Disappear When I’m With You

You wake in the semi-darkness, unsure where you are for a few seconds, until the memories flood your mind. Memories of Billy touching you, his hands on you, his tongue, his mouth on your skin, wet and warm. You slide your hand across the bed and it’s empty but still warm, so you sit up a little. You see him stood at the open window, a silhouette outlined by the orange lights over the car park, the faint glow of a lit cigarette rising and falling as he lifts it to his mouth. His arm rests on the window frame, and even though you can’t see his features, you get the feeling from his posture that he’s deep in thought. You throw back the sheet, swing your legs out of bed and as you pad across the room toward him, barefoot and naked, he turns to look at you, a soft smile on his lips. You stand beside him at the window, the breeze flicking your hair back from your face lazily, and you lean on the frame, your arms crossed, your chin atop them. He’s watching you as you close your eyes and enjoy the cold caress of the air across your bare skin, gooseflesh rippling across your arms. He tells you that you look beautiful, and you snort a little. You tell him he doesn’t need to flatter you, you’re already fucking him, and he shakes his head, a smile on his lips. It’s not flattery he tells you, drawing on his cigarette. He tells you you’re too good for Harrington. You turn your head to look at him, your temple pressed to the cool skin of your forearm, and ask him what he means. He sighs, and flicks his cigarette end out of the window. Staring into the distance he tells you that Harrington’s an asshole, and you could do better. Like _you_ , you ask him, and he laughs. He tells you he’s never been much of a one for commitment, andit’s your turn to laugh now. He shakes his head, tells you that’s not what he meant. He looks at you intently. Just better than Steve he tells you, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Seconds later the breeze loosens it again. You lift your head, reach out a hand to brush a finger across the pendant hanging from the chain around his neck. He moves quickly, so fast you don’t see it but then your fingers are in his fist. Don’t he says softly, his grip firm but not hurting you. He releases your hand and you let it drop. You’re not angry, just curious, but you say nothing. He’ll tell you if he wants to. You stand on tiptoes and brush his ear with your lips, kiss it softly. Come back to bed you whisper, taking his hand in yours, and he follows you willingly across the room, climbing in beside you. You roll towards him and he folds you into his arms, and his lips meet yours, kissing you softly but purposefully, his hand cupping your face and his arm wrapped around your waist. You drape a leg over his hip and he rubs himself against you, and he’s so hard already, even though he wasn’t at the window, literally seconds ago, and you moan into his mouth. He rolls with you and then you’re under him, one hand gripping your hip and the other on your jaw, thumbing the corner of your mouth as he kisses, and as you spread your legs he sinks into you in a single, slow, fluid movement and it feels like nothing you’ve ever felt before as you cry out. He doesn’t stop, rocking his hips into yours, rising and falling, taking you in a slow and steady rhythm, and even though he hasn’t laid a finger anywhere below your shoulder you’re already hurtling towards an orgasm. His lips graze your neck and you feel and hear him whisper your name and then you’re coming, warmth pulsating through your limbs as your hands tighten on his back, your nails digging crescents into his skin and your toes curling into the sheets, and just as you begin to climb down he calls out and rocks into you hard as he comes and a second orgasm hits you, harder than the first, more intense, and you cry out his name as your eyes roll back in ecstasy. You lay together afterward, a spent tangle of limbs, as Billy kisses his way down your shoulder and across your collarbone softly. As he reaches your throat you tilt your head back into the pillow and he nips at your skin gently with his teeth, and then nuzzles his face into your neck. You stroke circles into the skin of his back lazily with your fingertip, and you can feel the indentations your nails left in him. You wonder how many girls he’s lay here like this with; hundreds, if you believe the more salacious gossip about him, but even if it’s not all true, you know at least twenty girls from school who claim to have slept with him. You wonder if they really thought they could make him fall for them, if they really believed they’d change him. You know better. Billy is a free spirit, a wild mustang who can’t be tamed, lashing out at anyone who tries. You don’t want to tame him, you want him just the way he is, impulsive and unpredictable, dangerous and enigmatic. At some point you become aware that he stopped kissing your neck at least a minute or so ago and he’s watching your face. He asks you what you’re thinking about, and your face flushes in the darkness. You’ve done the most intimate things with Billy, he’s seen, touched, licked and kissed parts of your body that nobody else ever has, but the idea of telling him about your rambling thoughts embarrasses you. You mumble an excuse and he laughs, taking your earlobe between his teeth and nipping it. Tell me he whispers, his lilting voice soft, but with an edge of danger. Somehow, now he’s not looking at your face, you find yourself telling him you were wondering how many times he’s done this, how many girls he’s laid in anonymous motel rooms in the dark. He pauses, and you wonder if you’ve pissed him off. He runs the tip of his tongue along the rim of your ear, and then he whispers. Never he tells you, as he resumes kissing down your neck. You snort a laugh, and that makes _him_ laugh, asking you why that’s so unbelievable. You ask him if he really has to ask, and he shrugs as he moves to your shoulder with his lips. He’s had a lot of girls you tell him, almost apologetically. He stops his kissing, and looks at you. You can just make out his eyes in the light from the gap in the curtains, and in that moment you find yourself wishing you hadn’t said that. After a few seconds he speaks, and you can tell he’s choosing his words oh so carefully as he tells you that he’s never taken a girl home with him, that he’s never taken one to a motel, that he’s never wanted to before. He pauses, then tells you that he’s had sex with his fair share of women, but he’s never slept with one before, never shared a bed and slept next to someone, laid with them in the night and woken up next to them in the morning. Oh you say, your voice small and quiet, hesitant. His confession hangs in the air between you, and just as you begin to think the weight of it might suffocate you he kisses you, suddenly and hungrily, desperate and wanting, and you kiss him back. When he pulls away you ask him again, why is he here with you, now, if he’s never done this before. He sighs, tells you he can’t answer that right now. You want to ask why but you don’t, you don’t want to push too hard, and when he rolls off you to lay on his back a sadness washes over you. He seems surprised when you lift his arm to tuck yourself under it, to rest your head on his chest, but he pulls you in close to him and runs his fingers along your spine as you lay there with him, listening to his heartbeat until sleep takes you again.


	7. Have You No Idea That You’re In Deep? I’ve Dreamt About You Nearly Every Night This Week

Things have been awkward since your night at the motel together. You haven’t said anything, and neither has he, but there’s been an uneasy air between you both. You’re not avoiding each other, but you haven’t gone out of your way to run into him at school like you had been doing, and you don’t think he has either. You haven’t so much as touched him since that night, and it’s starting to drive you a little bit crazy. You find yourself thinking about it, in class, at home, when you’re driving. You caught yourself just about to call Steve Billy a few nights ago, and it wasn’t even in bed. It’s an itch that needs scratching, good and deep. You’ve thought about going over to his, but decided against it. He’s got a kid sister who hangs around with Nancy Wheeler’s dorky brother, and you don’t want it coming out that you’ve been to his house. So, scratch that. You planned on waiting for him after school the last few nights, but he’d gone by the time you’d gotten to your car, so that didn’t happen. You start to wonder if he _is_ avoiding you, if you said something that night to offend him. Maybe when you said he’d had a lot of girls. Sometimes the truth hurts. Or maybe he was avoiding you after telling you he’d never spent the night with anyone, embarrassed about it for some reason you can’t figure out. That’s what you’re thinking about when you hear it. The clink of something against the window. You frown, listening. It happens again, so you get up off the bed where you were reading, and you go to the window. It’s too dark to see out properly with the bedroom lamp reflecting off the glass so you lift the catch and push the window up. Billy’s standing there on the grass outside, under your window, looking around nervously. He’s raising his arm to throw whatever he’s been throwing again as he looks over his shoulder, so you say his name quietly and he looks around. There’s something on his face, something dark that looks like blood. You wonder if he’s been in a fight. He asks if he can come up in a hushed voice, and you nod, but press a finger to your lips, telling him he has to be quiet. He climbs up the trellis that runs up the side of the house past your window easily, swinging his leg over the frame and dropping into your room. As he looks up you realise it _is_ blood on his face, and it’s come from the nasty gash above his left eye. You ask him if he’s ok, tell him to sit down on your bed, which he does, and ask what happened. He’s doesn’t say anything, just looks down at his hands, so you tell him you’ll go get something to clean up his head. He just nods. You come back with a clean damp washcloth from the bathroom, and you sit next to him on the bed and lift his chin gently so you can clean him up, dabbing at his head and rubbing the dried blood away gently, apologising when he hisses as it stings. It doesn’t take long to clean, and when you’re done he thanks you, and you tell him it was nothing. He’s quiet for a few moments, and then he speaks. He tells you he’s sorry, he didn’t know where else to go, that he just got in his car and before he knew it he was on your street. He parked a little ways up the road he says, so your parents wouldn’t get suspicious. You tell him it’s ok, you don’t mind, and it’s just your mom, and she’s probably asleep by now, but thank him anyway for thinking of it. He just nods. You ask him if he wants to tell you what happened, and he shuffles his feet awkwardly, then says he should go, he shouldn't have come here anyway, and tells you he’s sorry. As he stands you put out your hand, touch his wrist, say wait, please. He doesn’t look at you, avoiding eye contact, but you take his hand in both of yours and ask him to stay. Please you say, telling him he doesn’t need to go, and he doesn’t need to tell you anything if he doesn’t want to, but if he does, that’s okay too. Just stay you ask him, please, and eventually he sits back down. You tell him you’re gonna go get a drink, ask him if he wants one, and he shakes his head. You say you’ll be right back and for him to make himself at home, and he nods without looking at you. You feel incredibly uneasy as you move around the kitchen, it’s so unsettling seeing him like this, so quiet and timid when he’s normally so vivid and obnoxious, so when you walk back through the bedroom door and he’s sat on your bed, wiping at his eyes furiously, and you realise he’s been crying, it makes _you_ want to cry. You climb onto the bed next to him and pull him to you, and then he’s sobbing into your shoulder, wracking sobs that sound like he’s letting out the worries of a thousand years, so you just sit like that for a while, holding him and saying nothing, letting him cry it out. It doesn’t take long before his tears dry up, but he makes no move to pull away from you and so you just wait, not minding the warmth and weight of him pressed to you or the tears soaking through your t-shirt. Eventually he mumbles that he’s sorry, that you must think he’s some kind of faggot, crying like that, and he presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying to force the tears back inside. You shake your head, tell him no, no you don’t think that at all, that he doesn’t need to be sorry. You tell him that you just wish he’d talk to you, tell you what’s wrong so you can try to help if you can, that it doesn’t matter what it is, and you mean it, it _doesn’t_ matter what it is, you just want to see him smile. He doesn’t look up as he tells you that he got into a fight with his dad, his voice flat and emotionless. You wait, and he carries on. He did this Billy says, gesturing to his head, and you cover your mouth with your hand. Jesus Billy you say, shocked and angry in equal measure, and he finally looks up at you. The sadness in his eyes is overwhelming, and in that second you realise that this isn’t the first time his father has hurt him, probably not the second, or third, that he’s probably been living with this for the longest time, and you fold him into your arms again, some primal urge to keep him safe rising in you. He lets you, settling his head into your chest where he was sobbing just a few moments ago, his tears now dried up, but still needing some comfort from you, wanting it, craving it. You lay like that for a while before you become aware that your shirt has ridden up a little, and that he’s tracing circles into the bare skin between the hem of it and your sweatpants with a fingertip. He must sense your realisation, because he flattens his palm against your hip, holding you, and lays a kiss on your chest, through your shirt. You close your eyes as he kisses you again, and again, and again, a little higher every time, until his lips are on your neck, your throat, just brushing your chin, and you moan a little. Billy wait you breathe, and he stops, and all you can hear is your heart pounding in your chest. We don’t have to do this you tell him, and as he tries to pull away from you you hold him tighter, making him listen to you as you tell him you’re not saying you don’t want to, just that you don’t have to, if he doesn’t want to, that you’re not going to kick him out or anything. He kisses you once on the jaw, softly, and he says he wants to, his voice low. I want _you_ he says, and that’s all you need to hear before you’re kissing him back, your hands cradling his face, your fingers buried in his hair. You’ve been craving his touch for days, his kisses, his smell and his smile, you just didn’t realise how much until he was here in front of you, next to you, laying with you. You’re kissing him like you haven’t seen him for weeks, months, like you can’t get enough of him and that every kiss might be your last, and he wants you just as much, his tongue tasting yours. You moan into his mouth, into his kiss, and he flexes his hips forward, pushing into you and you moan harder. He pulls away smiling, tells you that you said he had to be quiet and here you are making all the noise. You laugh. You tell him you don’t care, you need him, and pull him back to you by the front of his shirt. The hand he’s not leaning on is roaming now, pushing up under your shirt, and you suddenly become aware that you’re wearing an old, greying sports bra and mismatched panties. Your cheeks flush and he must sense it because he pauses, asking you what’s wrong. You giggle, embarrassed, and you tell him. He laughs and shakes his head. He tells you he doesn’t care about that, and his eyes flash dangerously as he adds that you won’t be in them much longer anyway. His hand changes direction, moving downward now under the baggy sweatpants you’re wearing and then under your underwear, and then his fingers are on your clit, moving over it and around in slow, steady circles, something he knows makes you come every time. You moan loudly and try to bury your face in his shoulder but he moves a little and you look at him questioningly. He tells you he wants to watch you come, and your cheeks flush again. He’s pulling out all the stops to embarrass you tonight you think. Why you ask him, looking away again, and when he speaks his voice is soft. Please he says, look at me, and you do. He tells you he wants to watch you, watch your face, see you lose yourself in pleasure, knowing its _him_ that’s done that, made you feel that way. You get it, you feel the same way when you hear him as he comes, the noises he makes, and the night you watched his eyes roll back as he came in your mouth behind the night club was such a fucking turn on. So you hold his gaze as he moves his hand under your clothes, his fingers dancing over your clit slowly and steadily, building up your orgasm, and you don’t try to look away as you moan and bite your lip, as you move your hips involuntarily, and when you finally come undone you look deep into his eyes as you call out his name and tell him you’re coming, and you see something there that you haven’t seen before. Pleasure washes over you and you let it take you, and you close your eyes a little so you can really feel it but you still don’t turn your face away, and you can feel his gaze burning into you as your fingertips tingle and your skin burns in ecstasy. You open your eyes as his fingers slow to a stop, meeting his. His lips are parted just a little and he’s panting almost as hard as you are, so when he tries to speak it barely makes a noise. He swallows and tries again, telling you you’re beautiful. You don’t try to brush it off this time, like you did in the motel room; somehow you know he means it, completely and utterly, and that makes it easier to accept. You raise a hand and trace the line of his eyebrow, run it down over his cheekbone and cup his face, and as you do he closes his eyes and leans into your hand, savouring your touch. Stay with me tonight you say, the words out of your mouth before you even knew you were going to say them, and Billy opens his eyes to look at you. What about your mom he asks you, and you shake your head a little. She won’t know you say, before you realise you don’t care if she does, so you tell him that. Stay with me you whisper, and he kisses you softly in answer, pulling you closer to him, pressing your body to his. 


	8. You’re The Best Kind Of Bad Something

You’ve never undressed each other before, not properly. You’ve always fucked fully clothed, underwear pulled aside or taken off, or undressed yourselves, like the night at the motel, aside from you pulling off his jeans. But tonight you’re taking your time, taking each other’s layers off slowly, delighting in uncovering each other a little at a time. He’d already taken off his boots and abandoned his jacket on your bedroom floor while you were downstairs, so when he sits up on the bed, leaning against the headboard to take a sip of your drink, you sit over him on your knees, one leg on either side of him, and you start to unbutton his shirt slowly. He watches your fingers as they move, and when you’ve slipped the last button through he looks into your face as you push it back off his shoulders and helps you shrug it off his arms. You run your fingers over his tanned skin, the last legacy of his life in California, and he’s always so warm, as if he trapped the heat of the West Coast sunshine inside him, brought it with him to Hawkins. You lean forward and kiss its smoothness, small soft kisses that leave no trace on his body, and you hear his breathing deepen as you move across from one shoulder to the other. Your last kiss lingers, your eyes closed as you breathe in his scent, and then his hands are on your waist, under your shirt, just holding you for a moment until you pull away from him. He never takes his eyes off you as he peels your shirt upwards and over your head, and when you try to cross your arms over the sports bra you warned him about earlier he simply says don’t, a request rather than an order, and you drop them. He runs his fingers up your arms, and gooseflesh breaks out across them at his touch and you shudder. He laughs. Ticklish he asks, and you smile coyly as you say a little. He moves down your sides, his hands tracing the curve of your breasts and the dip of your waist, coming to rest on your hips. He grips them and pulls you forward a little, rubbing you against the hard bulge in his jeans, and you grind into him, but not too hard. He moans softly, and it sends a tingle of heat through your core. Your hands drop to his belt buckle, and you have it open in seconds, quickly followed by his button and zipper. Predictably he’s not wearing underwear, and you laugh. He tilts his head in question, and you ask him if he ever wears any. No he says smiling, before he tells you his pants are all too tight for underwear, and then you laugh together. Up he says, slapping you lightly on the ass, and you sit up on your knees and shuffle back some as he draws his legs up from under you, dropping them either side of you, so you’re kneeling between them now. He sits forward as he wiggles your sweatpants down oh so slowly, just a little at a time, over your hips and down your thighs. He raises an eyebrow at your panties, white with blue and pink flowers, and you point a finger at him, telling him to shush before he’s even said anything. He grins, but mimes zipping his mouth, and you can’t help but smile at him as you sit down on your ass between his legs, your feet either side of his hips, so he can pull your pants the rest of the way off. As soon as your legs are bare he grabs your calves and pulls you toward him and you shriek as your top half falls back onto the bed, your arms out above your head. He hooks his fingers into the panties he was ridiculing just a few moments ago and pulls them down, telling you it’s about time we got rid of these, and then you’re laughing again as he strips them off your legs. You place your feet on his shoulders, your toes pressed into his skin, and let your legs fall open, Billy exhaling loudly as he watches you do it, and then when you snake a hand down to touch yourself he mutters something about Jesus under his breath. You circle your clit the way he does, mimicking his movements and watching him watch you, watching his mouth as he bites his lip, brushes it with his tongue. You wonder if he’s aware he’s doing it, but then your mind starts to fuzz as the pleasure begins to take over. You move a little lower, dip a finger into yourself and drag the wetness back up over your clit and he swallows hard, his breathing almost ragged now, even though he hasn’t so much as touched himself. He’s holding onto your legs, in the middle of your thighs, his thumbs just pressing into your skin, but his grip begins to tighten a little as his excitement rises, along with his cock, which you can feel through his pants, jabbing into your ass cheek where you’re pressed together. Do it again he breathes. You decide to play with him so you feign ignorance and say do what, a smile on your parted lips. He tells you to put your finger inside yourself again so you do, a little more this time, and he groans a little. Touch yourself if you want you tell him, but he shakes his head, still never taking his eyes off your cunt and your hand moving on it, in it. You slip another finger into yourself and thrust a little deeper with them and he groans again, a little louder, and then he asks you to make yourself come for him, please. You thrust a few more times before you move back to your clit, moving in fast hard circles now the way he does, and soon you’re closing your eyes as you come hard, crying out, Billy watching you the whole time, listening to your moans as they trail off. You prop yourself up on your elbows and he looks at you, breathing heavily. Holy shit that was hot he tells you, his voice hoarse, and you smirk. He asks you if you do that a lot and you flop back on the bed, turn your face away, grinning in embarrassment into his leg, and he laughs. He asks you to tell him what you think about when you do it, and you find yourself whispering you to him. He barks a disbelieving laugh. You look at him, and he’s frowning a little. He asks you if that’s true. Yes you tell him, your face flushing, spreading to your chest. His eyes widen a little in surprise, and he says a quiet oh, then why. You look away again. You tell him that at first, after the bathroom and his car, it was just a physical thing, thinking about the things he’d done to you, the pleasure it gave you. Then after the locker room it was a little bit of that, but some of it is the way he made you feel when he dominated you the way he did, holding your hands behind your back, spanking you. You find yourself telling him that you like it, that it turns you on when he takes charge, it makes you feel wanted somehow. You turn your face back to him and there’s a glint of excitement in his eye. Seconds later he’s holding himself over you on one hand, the other holding your wrists above your head. Like this he breathes, and you nod. He lowers his head to your neck and you lift your chin, letting him kiss you there, running the tip of his tongue over your skin, nibbling on you. He bites a little harder and you whisper yes, like you did the first time, and just like then he bites down on your throat. It’s so intense, such a delicate balance of pleasure and pain that he never fails to get just right, and you cry out, raising your hips to him and wanting to feel him fill you. He bites just a little harder and you cry out again, and then he’s kissing the spot where his teeth have marked you, soft gentle kisses that soothe the sting away. You like that he says softly, a statement more than a question, his face still buried in your neck and you nod, because you do. He lets go of your wrists and sits up on his knees, crooks a finger at you, beckoning you to come to him, so you do. You sit in front of him, cross legged, and he reaches out and pulls at your bra, so you raise your arms and let him pull it over your head, toss it to the floor. He’s still on his knees so you slip your hands into his jeans, pushing them down, and when he sits back and puts his legs out you pull them off him completely and drop them over the side of the bed. You contemplate him for a moment, laying on the bed, you sitting facing him, just looking at one another, and then you both go to speak at the same time. You laugh awkwardly, and he gestures for you to speak first, but you shake your head and tell him it doesn’t matter. Tell me he purrs, and just like the night at the motel, you can’t resist doing as he wants when he asks you with that voice. You tell him you’re glad he came here tonight, that it was your house he showed up at. You move onto your knees, crawl up the bed towards him, throw your leg over him and straddle him. He moves his hand to touch you, but you catch it in your own and lift it over his head, pressing it into the pillows. His eyes widen a little as you feel for his other one and lift that too, pressing them together with your hands on his wrists. You feel his cock stir beneath you. He likes this. You kiss along his jawline, down his neck, mimicking what he’s done to you so many times, down the smooth skin of his chest, and when you reach his nipple you catch it in your teeth, pull on it a little. He grunts, bucks his hips a little, so you bite a little harder and he hisses, cursing through his teeth. Fuck he breathes, looking down at you. You meet his eyes and put just a tiny bit more pressure on, and his cock twitches against you as he cries out. You get it now, why he likes this so much, taking control of you and hurting you in a good way. It feels good, knowing you’re in charge. You take your teeth off him and kiss the spot softly, and he moans. You love to hear him moan. You kiss and nip your way down his chest and stomach, and even though you’re not holding his wrists any longer he leaves his hands in place above his head. You suck at his skin, leaving red marks on him, tiny indentations from your teeth, and he writhes and moans beneath you as you meander over his hip towards his cock with your mouth. You don't touch him with your hands, you just take it into your mouth, pressing your tongue against it and running it over the slit at the top of it, tasting the bead of moisture that’s gathered there already, and he gasps your name loudly. You grin around him, and then you begin to suck on him slowly, teasingly. You stop when you feel his hand touch your hair, pull away, tell him no, and he groans and moves his hand back, so you resume your sucking. After a few minutes he whispers your name, and you pause, looking up at him with his cock still in your mouth. He tells you that as much as he’s loving what you’re doing, if you carry on he’s going to come before he’s even been inside you. You give him one last long, slow suck, before you pull away from him, and move back up, face to face with him. He moves to kiss you but you pull back grinning, teasing him. Don’t you care that I’ve had your dick in my mouth you ask him, and he shakes his head. No he tells you. He says it’s _his_ dick, why should he care, and besides, he’d be pissed off if you wouldn’t kiss him after he’d been eating you, so the same applies to him. He says he doesn’t get why guys are so grossed out by it. You shrug. Come here he whispers, beckoning with his head. You lean forward until your chests are touching, and you can feel his heart beating against you. He tells you he’s glad too, that he came here, that he drove aimlessly and ended up at your door, that his subconscious knew what he needed. You don’t think, you just kiss him, your mouth crashing into his and claiming him frantically. His hands are all over you, and yours all over him, grabbing at him and clawing his skin with an urgency you’ve never felt before. You move your hips just enough to let him reach between you and hold himself as he pushes into you from below and you cry out together. He wraps his arms around you, holding you to him tightly, and then he thrusts his hips up, pounding into you hard and fast, and you push your face into his chest to stifle a scream of pleasure. You come quickly, not a slow build up of pleasure that overwhelms your senses one at a time, but an assault on every nerve ending in your body at once, your open mouth pressed to Billy’s skin in an attempt to stay quiet, your teeth pressing into him. He shifts his arm down a little, pulling your body closer and spreading your legs a little wider as he keeps up his thrusting, and somehow he’s even deeper than before and you’re coming again, one orgasm on top of another, overlapping, and as you clench around Billy tightly he shouts your name and then he’s emptying himself deep inside you, shaking under you and panting hard. You don’t try to move, you can’t, so you just lay there on top of him as his breathing slows, but he doesn’t attempt to unwrap his arms from around you. It doesn’t surprise you to find you don’t want him to.


	9. Can’t Break Free From The Things That You Do

This has to stop. You’ve been telling yourself this for days, trying to work out how to tell him. You can’t let yourself fall for him, not now, not ever. You realised how much things had changed when you woke next to him in your bed, when you turned your head on your pillow and he was asleep just inches from you and you thought how beautiful he looked in the morning light. You drank him in, his long dark eyelashes resting on his tanned skin, his soft lips slightly parted, and you reached out to touch his face. Shit. This wasn’t how it was meant to happen. But you don’t want to stop fucking him. Not just because the sex is fucking amazing, out of this world, but because of how he makes you feel. He makes you feel sexy, wanted, desirable. You’re probably not the only girl he’s screwing right now, but he makes you feel like you’re the only girl in the fucking world. Steve’s never made you feel that way. He’s never said it, but there’s always been an air between you that you should feel lucky to have him, that he chose you. You’ve heard other people at school say that if you weren’t with Steve, you’d be a nobody. Maybe it’s true. Maybe not. But you’ve never felt that way with Billy. With Billy you feel like a queen, like a fucking goddess. You’re not stupid, you know he probably makes every girl feel that way. Flatters them, compliments them, makes them feel special. You’re not lying to yourself, you know exactly how it goes. But you like it.  
  


He slipped you a note in class earlier. He wants to come over later. You’ve got plans, you’re having dinner with Steve’s parents, but you scribble a note back that you might be able to meet him after, on Cornwallis, the part the younger kids call Mirkwood. You tell him to park up and wait for you, and if you’re not there by 11 you can’t make it. You slip the note under his locker door. This is how things will be now. No more cosy sleepovers in beds, no more talking. You’ll meet, you’ll screw, you’ll go home. Keep him at arms length.

It’s seven minutes after 11 when you pull onto Cornwallis, and you’re not sure whether you’re disappointed or relieved. You really want to see him, especially after tonight, with Steve taking every opportunity to talk over you, patronise you, generally make you feel fucking stupid. That’s why you’re late, you had a huge row with him as you left, telling him what a piece of shit he is. You almost blurted out that you’ve been fucking Billy. You wanted to hurt him, make him feel as stupid as you did. But it’s a risk, now that you’ve admitted to yourself how you really feel, especially when you’ve argued with Steve, when you know that if you told Billy he’d say all the right things to make you feel better. You can’t let it go any deeper. But the Camaro’s still there, parked at the side of the road. Fuck. You consider driving straight past him, but he knows your car. He’d know it was you, especially this late at night when there’s no other cars on the road and when he’s watching out for you. So you park up behind him, your heart pounding in your chest. You check your make up in the mirror, then you wonder why you’re bothering when you know he won’t care. He hasn’t gotten out of his car, so you climb out of yours, smoothing down your dress as you walk. You expect him to be mad at you for being late, but he doesn’t even mention it, just leans in to kiss you. You put out a hand, put your finger on his lips. No kissing you tell him, trying to sound casual. He raises an eyebrow, smirks at you. He asks if you’ve been sucking Steve off. No you laugh, in spite of your stomach churning. Why does he have to be so... Billy? You tell him you just don’t have long, that you were late leaving Steve’s and you need to be home soon. Okay he says casually, unbuckling his belt, reaching into his pants and pulling his dick out. He strokes it lazily, and you can’t help but watch. God you want him. He asks you what you’re waiting for, and you smile at him as you climb over and into his lap, but you turn at the last minute so your back is to him. You don’t want to look at him, not tonight. You can’t. If you fall into those eyes one more time you might never climb back out, drowning in a sea of blue grey water, the colour of the ocean in a storm. He murmurs appreciatively as he pushes your dress up around your waist as you hold yourself up on the seat, knees pressed together. You took your panties off in the bathroom at Steve’s before you left, in fact he almost caught you stuffing them into your purse in the hallway, but you managed to get away with it. Billy whispers to you, tells you to move your legs apart, and you do, planting your feet either side of his in the footwell, and then he slips his hand between your legs from behind. His fingers trace the line of your wet slit from back to front, brushing over your clit and then back again, before he parts them and spreads you open. He reaches around you with his other arm, and in one motion he pulls you down into his lap with it and thrusts his hips up at the same time and it hurts more than a little as he forces his way into you without warning and you cry out. He grabs your hair and pulls it hard, jerking your head back until it’s resting on his shoulder, and then he growls into your ear. He tells you he’s going to fuck you so hard you’re not gonna be able to sit down for dinner with Steve for a week, that he’s gonna make it hurt so fucking good that you’ll be thinking of him with every step you take tomorrow, and probably the day after. His words send a shiver down your spine, a mix of excitement and fear, and he tightens his fist in your hair and his arm around your waist. You couldn’t get away if you wanted to. He pulls out of you sharply, and then he slams back into you, the entire length of his cock pushing into you, and you scream, because fuck it hurts, you don’t think he’s ever been this deep in you. You wonder if he’s punishing you for not letting him kiss you. You pull his shirt up a little with your hand, grip his waist, your nails digging into his skin. Before you’re finished you’ll have clawed a furrow into his flesh, a rivulet of blood running down over his hip and soaking into the denim of his jeans. He pounds into you again and you cry out again, you can’t hold it in, and somehow, despite the pain, you know that in a few more thrusts you’ll be coming around him. It’s almost like he can hear your thoughts, because he’s whispering in your ear again, his voice gravelly, telling you he can feel how wet you are, so wet that it’s running out of you with every thrust and he can feel it trickling down over his balls. He asks you if it hurts, and you say yes. Why he asks, and you tell him it’s too hard, too deep, too much. Too bad he says, and then he’s slamming into you a third time, and even though he does it hard enough to make tears well in your eyes the only sound you can make now is a whimper, and when he says again, asking you if you want more, you nod as much as you can with your hair gripped so tightly and so he does, again. This time the tears spill, running down your face in hot tracks, and Billy feels them against his cheek as they run down your neck. His grip on your waist relaxes, and then his hand is stroking between your legs, and you jump a little as he touches you, everything there sore and swollen and raw. He brushes your clit gently, a stark contrast with the way he’s been destroying you with his cock, and you feel his lips move against your tear streaked neck. Come for me baby he whispers, and then he’s fucking you, fast now, but as hard and as deep as he was before. You come undone in seconds and as your cunt tightens around him he shouts something incomprehensible and thrusts into you sloppily, once, twice, then a third time before he slows and stills. He presses his lips to your shoulder and kisses you tenderly, warmly. You close your eyes and wish he wouldn’t, but beg him not to stop in your mind at the same time. As his heartbeat slows against your back you lift yourself from his lap, hissing at the sting as he slips from you and you pull your dress down. You don’t look at him as you open his door and climb out, and he doesn’t try to speak to you. Something’s changed between you, something wordless. You let the tears fall as you drive away. 


	10. I Always Used To Kiss And Run, I Never Wanted Love To Catch Me

Another one of Steve’s infamous parties. Great. Another opportunity for him to get drunk and be a dick. Except tonight he hadn’t. He’s not been in the best mood all day, which is _so_ unlike him when he has a gathering coming up. And then tonight, long before midnight, he’d told you he was tired and that he was heading up to bed. He’d kissed you on the forehead, a gesture surprisingly intimate, and then he’d pulled back and looked into your eyes. It had seemed like he’d wanted to say something, but in the end he didn’t, just climbed the stairs with a half drunk beer in his hand and went to bed. It was unsettling. Now you were sat by his pool, swirling your feet in the water and enjoying the quiet of the early hours. Tommy and Carol had left about twenty minutes ago, the last ones to go as always. Carol had thrown up at the bottom of the driveway, Tommy cursing as he folded her into the passenger seat of his car.

The night’s warm, the water cool on your feet, and you want to feel it all over. You stand up and strip off, every last stitch of clothing gone, and as you sit on the edge of the pool and slip into the water, your nipples harden against the chill instantly. It feels good. You dip under the water, your eyes closed, and you listen to the nothingness under the surface, the only sound your pulse whooshing in your ears. You stay there like that as long as you can, until your lungs are burning from holding your breath too long, and when you break the surface you’re gasping for air, water blurring your vision. When the world comes back into focus you see Billy, sat on a patio chair opposite you, watching as you push your hair out of your face. Didn’t think you were coming back up he says with a smirk on his face. That smirk makes you want to slap him and kiss him at the same time. You ask him what he’s doing here, you thought everybody had left ages ago. He shrugs, tells you he was sitting out here under a tree smoking, that he saw you come out. He tells you that you hadn’t seen him so he sat and watched you, dipping just your feet first, then taking everything off and getting in. His nostrils flare a little as he says it and you can tell _exactly_ what he’s thinking. He stands, toes off his boots as he drains his beer. What are you doing you ask him, trying to sound disapproving. You’d told yourself the last time was _the_ last time, that you’d stay away from him now, that you’d chalk your little fling up to boredom and resentment of Steve and that would be that. You said it again when you saw him in the hallway at school the morning after he fucked you to tears in his car, and then again when you saw him watching you when you stood up as the bell rang at the end of Math, wincing at the sting between your legs. You told yourself no more after you touched yourself to completion last night, thinking of his tongue on you, remembering the feel of his fingers inside you. You’re telling yourself now as you watch him pull his shirt off over his head, not bothering to unbutton it, again as he drops his pants and pull them from his legs. You chant it in your mind as he lowers himself into the water opposite you, just as naked as you, dips below the surface, and then rises out of the water, inches from you, slowly. You say it out loud as he stops, close enough to feel his breath on your face, close enough to kiss him without moving your body, close enough that you can feel his heat through the water. We can’t do this anymore you tell him, your heart screaming at you to shush. He doesn’t move, just looks into your eyes. Why. A single word, no trace of emotion in it. You tell him Steve doesn’t deserve it. He scoffs. Steve’s a dick he tells you. He treats you like shit he says, and deep down you know he’s right. Maybe so you say, but it’s not fair to lie to him. Tell him then he says, his voice casual. You shake your head, tell him you can’t do that, besides, it’s not just that. His voice is soft. Tell _me_ then he whispers. You tell him you can’t, there’s too many reasons. He asks you to give him one of them, just one. If you can give me one good reason he says, I’ll leave you alone. You look down into the water, looking for something, anything to tell him, anything that isn’t the truth. It’s too risky you say, taking a step backwards and hoping something will come to you so you don’t have to finish that sentence with ‘because I’m falling for you’. How so he asks, and he steps forward so you’re just as close as you were before. Your brain scrambles for something, anything to tell him. You panic, tell him you have to stop taking your birth control for a while, take another step back. Fine he says nonchalantly, stepping toward you again, tells you he’ll get condoms. Fuck. You step back again and your shoulders hit the poolside, nowhere left to run. A smile dances over his lips and he reaches out, plants his hands either side of you on the wall. His voice is low when he speaks. He tells you the only valid reason you have is the one you won’t say out loud, and the only reason you won’t say it out loud is because it changes things forever. You swallow. You don’t need to say it he tells you softly, and he reaches out, thumbs the corner of your mouth. You close your eyes. I already know he whispers, and you _know_ he knows, of course he knows, this is what he _does_. Finds a girl, charms her out of her panties and into his arms and then tosses her aside like garbage when she develops feelings for him. Anger rises in you, anger at him for being, well, _him_ , anger at Steve for pushing you to it, but mostly anger at yourself for letting it happen, for letting yourself play with fire. Your eyes snap open, all that anger ready to spill from your mouth in his direction, but then you see his face, his eyes, and instead of the grin you’re expecting, the smug, self satisfied grin he wears so often, his face is soft, his eyes almost sad, and the rage dies in your chest. I already know he whispers again, and in a moment of blinding clarity you realise exactly what he’s telling you. He can’t say it either. You throw yourself at him and his mouth meets yours, your lips crashing together, your tongues searching for one another, needy and desperate. He pushes you against the pool wall and you wrap your legs around his waist under the water, his arm around your back and his hand holding your face as you kiss each other frantically. You moan his name as he pushes himself into you, everything slippery in the water, skin sliding over skin, and as he begins to thrust into you you feel the tiles behind you scraping your shoulder blades. Your mouth is on his neck, his throat, you bite down on his skin and he groans into your shoulder, harder he pants. You bite harder as he fucks you, wondering if this is how he feels when he bites you, like you’re claiming him somehow, making him yours. Suddenly you can taste copper and you realise you’ve broken the skin, you can taste his blood, and the thought horrifies you. You try to pull away but he holds you tight, no he says, don’t stop, and fuck if that doesn’t make every nerve ending in your body scream in unison. You suck at the bleeding mark on his neck gently, pressing your tongue to it, trying to stop the trickle of crimson down his skin, swirling into the water before disappearing and he moans, telling you he’s going to come. Come for me baby you breathe, echoing his words from last time, and he does, his cock twitching and pulsing in you, your name falling from his mouth, his breathing ragged. He pulls his head back to look at you, and he laughs. What you ask, confused, and he brushes your lips with his thumb. It comes away streaked with blood, his blood, so he puts his thumb in his mouth and sucks it. You tell him you’re sorry, you got carried away, you didn’t mean to hurt him, but he shakes his head, smiling. Don’t be sorry he says, telling you it felt good, he wanted you to. He closes his eyes and presses his lips to your forehead, your legs still wrapped around his waist, him still deep inside you. Neither of you notice Steve watching you from between the blinds of his bedroom window.


	11. You Should Have Seen By The Look In My Eyes Baby, There Was Something Missin’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter here, no smut, just a bit of storyline that’s gives a little background. Back to smut next chapter ;)

He’s waiting for you when you come back into the house, your hair dripping down your back, soaking through the t-shirt you’ve thrown back on over just your panties to let Billy out of the front door. You creep into the hallway, Billy trailing behind you, his fingers loosely entwined in yours as he follows you as quietly as you can manage. Steve’s sitting at the bottom of the staircase, and as you draw level with him he stands up slowly, rising out of the darkness, and you let out a scream of surprise and drop Billy’s hand. You scared me you laugh nervously, pressing a hand to your chest as your heart thumps. You tell him you’re just letting Billy out, he’d been sat out in the garden and you’d taken a dip in the pool and then you trail off as Steve holds up a hand. I saw you he says, almost under his breath. Shit. How much has he seen. Maybe he can see it in your face because he looks at you as he says he saw it all. Saw him fucking you in _my_ pool he says, venom in his voice. Tears well in your eyes. You hear Billy shuffle his feet behind you, and you say a silent prayer that he’ll just keep his mouth shut, let you try to keep this situation as calm as possible. Not a chance. He speaks behind you, tells you he wouldn’t have needed to if Steve could keep his girl satisfied, and then Steve launches himself past you, throws Billy to the floor, punches him in the mouth. Billy flips him over, rolls on top of him and then he’s punching Steve, blood erupting from Steve’s nose. You scream at them to stop, to get off each other, but they can’t hear you as they grapple on the floor, rolling around and lashing out with fists and elbows. You grab at Steve as he struggles to climb on top of Billy again, his hand pressing Billy’s face to the floor, smearing a bloody handprint down his cheek. You can’t tell whose blood is whose anymore, they’re both bleeding, it’s running from Steve’s nose and Billy’s lip, and the cut over his eye that his father gave him has opened up again and is trickling down the side of his face steadily. You manage to drag Steve away from him, enough to put yourself between them, to scream at them both to get off each other, leave each other alone, just STOP, and they both scramble to their feet, facing you, panting. Steve swipes the back of his hand across his face, under his nose, regards the blood there with distaste and wipes it down his jeans. Billy grins, itching to finish what Steve started. Just _stop_ you say again, your voice hard and angry. You turn to Steve, tell him to look at you. He just carries on staring at Billy, fury in his eyes, his mouth grimacing. Steve you say, firmer this time, and he drags his eyes from Billy to look at you. This isn’t his fault you say softly, holding up your hand to stop him as he opens his mouth to reply. You tell him that this was _your_ choice, that you came onto Billy, that you made the first move (which isn’t strictly true given that he kissed you first, but you let him, and it was you who dragged him into the bathroom and asked, no, told him to fuck you). You tell him that you never meant for it to get this far, but it did, and it’s too late now, that you can’t take it back. His face falls as your words sink in, and when he speaks his voice sounds broken. This happened more than once he says, and you press your eyes closed and bite your lip as you nod. When you open them he’s looking at the floor, and you can tell he’s thinking, going over things in his mind. He asks you when it started. You try to tell him it doesn’t matter but he talks over you, anger rising in his voice. He tells you that the least you can do, the very fucking _least_ , is be honest with him. A tear spills down your cheek as you tell him it was a few months ago, last time he had a party. He laughs bitterly, calls you a slut. Resentment rises in your chest, spills out of your mouth as you tell him that you’ve never been with anyone but him, not until Billy, and that the only reason you so much as _looked_ at Billy was because you were sick of being taken for granted by him, treated like a stupid bimbo trophy wife, spoken to like a doormat. Better get used to fetching my beer babe, like a good little wife you scoff, mimicking Steve and what he’d said to you that night oh-so-long ago. You hear Billy snigger behind you. You can’t stop, you’re on a roll now, months and years of resentment at Steve pouring out of you. You tell him that he thinks you’ll just be content to marry him for a comfortable life, he tells you that you don’t need to go to college because he’s going into his dad’s business and you’ll be a kept woman, never mind what _you_ want, but that money will never make up for everything that’s missing between you, the passion that doesn’t exist, the respect that he doesn’t think you deserve. What, and _he_ respects you he shouts, pointing at Billy. He’s never respected a girl in his life he spits, he uses them and leaves them when he gets what he wants. He treats me like a fucking equal you scream, and Steve falls silent, shocked. Maybe he _does_ only want one thing you say, your voice unsteady, but at least he doesn’t lie about that, never tries to hide it, and he never makes you feel like you’re not good enough, like you’re a lesser person than him because you don’t have a dick between your legs. He makes me feel good about _me_ you whisper, and you know you’ve won the battle when Steve drops to the floor, sits with his head in his hands, because it’s true. He’ll never commit to you, to anyone he whispers, shaking his head, tells you you’re probably not the only girl he’s screwed this week. You tell him maybe all that is true, but did he ever stop to think that maybe you don’t _want_ him to commit, that you just want someone who wants you for what _you_ are instead of what you can be and do for _them_ , but he doesn’t answer. Just get out he breathes, and you can hear his voice is thick with tears. I’m sorry Steve you tell him, but he laughs his bitter laugh again and cuts you off. You’re not sorry he tells you, you’re just sorry you got caught, and as you move to pick up your pants and shoes, discarded on the floor when you were trying to break their fight up he screams at you again to get out, go on, fuck off. You pull them on and let yourself out, Billy following behind you in silence.


	12. I Just Wanna Take My Time, We Could Do This, Baby, All Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut ahoy. Billy’s a secret feminist, and this gets a little kinky near the end.

You walk ahead of him, your eyes fixed on the road in front of you, looking out for the headlights of any cars that might be approaching. You hear the snick of him snapping his lighter shut, dragging heavily on a cigarette, and the aroma of smoke drifts in your direction. You didn’t have to do that he says and you scowl, not that he can see your face. You don’t want to talk to him, but after a minute or so your curiosity gets the better of you. Do _what_ you say, your tone sharp. He tells you that you didn’t have to say it was your fault, your choice, your idea. I followed _you_ up to the bathroom he says, you could have told him that, blamed me, it wouldn’t have mattered. You slow down a little, let him fall into step next to you. You say that you take responsibility for your own mistakes, you don’t need a white knight riding in to rescue you, keeping your virtue intact. He sniggers. He tells you that your virtue is long gone, that he’s definitely no white knight, but that you’re right, you _can_ fight your own battles and hold your own. You feel a tiny swell of pride when you hear that, especially when you remember all the times Steve treated you like you were incapable of making your own decisions just because of your sex, and even more so because it’s come from Billy, who doesn’t have the best reputation for the way he treats his women. Who’s _really_ the caveman here you wonder, and you smirk to yourself. You shiver a little, your damp hair and shirt making you feel a chill even though the night air is warm. Out of the corner of your eye you see Billy hold his cigarette loosely between his lips as he shrugs off his jacket, and before you can protest he’s draped it over your shoulders, pulling your hair loose from under it before he steps back in line with you. Thanks you mumble and he nods in acknowledgment. You watch him as you walk, his easy gait, strolling along beside you, hands tucked in his pockets, not a care in the world. You wonder if he gives a single shit about what’s just happened, about Steve’s reaction. Probably not. It’s not that far from Steve’s house to yours, but Billy’s is even closer, and before you know it you’re at the top of his street. You slow to a stop at the same time, an awkward silence hanging in the air between you. You slip his jacket from one shoulder to hand back to him, but he steps forward and pulls it round you, tells you to hang onto it, that you can give it back to him at school. What, and have everyone knowing exactly what happened tonight you say, an eyebrow raised at him, and he laughs. You think they won’t already know he asks with a grin on his face, telling you that everyone in Hawkins will have heard about this by tomorrow lunch. You groan as you realise that he’s right, you’ll be hot gossip for at least the next week, and you wonder how you’ll ever be able to show your face at school again. What are _you_ smirking at you ask him, they’ll be talking about you too, but instead of wiping the smile from his face it only broadens it, infuriating you. I’m used to it he tells you, and besides he says, shrugging, it could be worse. How’s that you ask, and he fixes you with his infuriating grin again. Could have gotten caught with Steve he jokes, and you burst out laughing. As your laughter tails off he looks at you as if searching for something, then clears his throat. He tells you that his dad and Susan, his stepmom, have gone to visit her family for the weekend, taken his stepsister with them. You could come back to mine, if you wanted to he says, staring at his feet. You remember his confession in the motel room, that he’s never taken anyone home with him, and even though he shared a bed with you that night, and he’s slept in yours since, waking next to you in the morning, you get the feeling that this is a big deal for him, an offer he isn’t making lightly. Your mind skips over everything that’s happened tonight, the fact that you’ve literally _just_ been caught cheating on your boyfriend of four years, that come Monday morning at school your reputation will be in tatters. Fuck it you think, the damage is already done. Sure you say softly, I’d like that. He looks at you for a moment before he gestures with his head for you to walk with him down the street.

His room is almost exactly what you expected it to be. A few posters on the walls, bands and women in varying states of undress that you think you might have seen on television before, and a tape deck stacked with tapes, nearly all of them rock and metal. There’s a full length mirror propped on the dresser, surrounded by a litter of cans of hairspray and mousse, a couple of bottles of cologne and a black eyeliner pencil that you pick up and eye suspiciously, wondering if he’s ever actually worn it in public. You find you have no trouble imagining him stood in front of that mirror, preening himself and winking at his own reflection. You smirk to yourself at that, and you jump a little when Billy asks what you’re smiling at from the doorway. Jesus Billy how do you sneak around like that you ask him, and he laughs a little. He’s cleaned the blood off his face and it seems the only new damage is his split lip. Bathroom’s free he tells you, flopping down onto his bed. When you come back he’s put some music on, some rock song that you vaguely recognise, and he’s nodding along to it and tapping a foot on the mattress as he smokes. He scoots over, making room for you to sit down next to him. You perch on the edge of the bed, nervous in a way you’ve never been around him before. You’re in his territory now. He flips over onto his side and reaches out the hand not holding his cigarette to run his fingers along the swathe of skin visible between your pants and the hem of your shirt. What’s the matter he asks you, and you shrug. You can’t put your finger on it. You tell him it’s a little of everything you guess, what happened tonight, fighting with Steve, finally getting it off your chest how you felt, how he made you feel. You tell him this isn’t how you pictured things ending with Steve, that you thought you’d either drift apart when you moved away to college or you’d make it through and end up married. He doesn’t say anything, just listens as you talk, unburdening on him. You tell him about all the times Steve talked down to you, told you that you didn’t need to go to college to be a wife and mother, that you should just look for a little job somewhere in the meantime, something to make you a little pocket money. You rant about the times when he’d undermine your choices, telling you to wear a dress instead of pants, don’t you wanna look good on my arm baby, order the steak not the chicken, everybody loves steak, you won’t get what’s going on in that movie, we’ll rent this instead. Maybe _some_ girls want all that you say, but you don’t, you never will. You don’t want to _ever_ rely on a man, you want to be your own person, make your own decisions and your own way in life. I want my choices and my achievements to be my own you say, your voice fierce and tears prickling your eyes. Billy sits up behind you, shuffles forward on the bed until his legs are either side of you, wraps his arms around you, rests his chin on your shoulder. Yeah, well you don’t ever have to bow down to King Steve again he tells you, his tone thoughtful. He tells you he likes that you’re fierce, tough, that you don’t take any shit. It’s sexy he says, and his hand drifts down your thigh. You think you whisper, and he nods. You tell him Steve said it was a real dick shriveller when a woman talks back, and he laughs. He tells you that only insecure guys who feel threatened by a woman say things like that, usually the type with a tiny dick in the first place, and you giggle at his words as the hand that was on your thigh makes its way between your legs. You can feel his heat even through your pants, and you wriggle into him a little, wanting to feel him pressed against you. You can talk back to me any time you like baby he murmurs, his lips on your neck as his hand slips under your clothes, into your panties. Oh yeah you ask him, your tone questioning, and he mmmms into your skin, the vibration making you shiver with arousal. It’s one of his two favourite things he tells you as you flex your hips, rubbing yourself over his fingers. What’s that you moan as you lean your head back into his shoulder, and he runs his other hand up your throat, holding you there. Fighting he says as he tightens his grip a little, drawing a gasping moan from you. And the other you ask, your voice barely more than a whine of pleasure as you grind into his hand, spreading your wetness over it. Fucking he whispers into your ear, and his fingers plunge into you as he says it, and you come undone around him.

You lay on the bed next to him a little while later, basking in the afterglow of several orgasms that he managed to bring you to whilst stripping you off slowly, tending to every inch of your body with his mouth and his fingers. Somewhere along the way you’d divested him of his clothes as well, wanting to feel his warmth, the smoothness of his skin. You’re staring at the ceiling, waiting for your legs to stop shaking so you can carry on, while Billy smokes next to you, blowing rings into the air lazily. Never had you pegged for a feminist you tell him, and he looks at you, an eyebrow slightly raised. That thing you said, you tell him, about men who feel threatened by women. He huffs, half laughing, half defensive, and tells you that he meant it, there’s _nothing_ sexier than a strong woman who knows what she wants and how to get it, and that if men don’t like it it’s a reflection of them and their insecurities, not her. He tells you he’s 100% confident in himself, and you laugh, tell him there _is_ such a thing as too much confidence. If he feels that way, you say, treading carefully now, not wanting to piss him off when you’re actually talking for once, then how come he loses interest in a girl once he’s slept with her. He contemplates you for moment, and just as you begin to think you’ve pissed him off anyway he speaks. He tells you that he’s _always_ upfront with the girls he sleeps with, tells them he’s not much of one for dating, that he likes to keep his options open. He says they always take that as a challenge, try to change him, try to win him over, make him fall for them, and it _never_ works, it’s a huge turn off in fact. Then they get all pissed when he tells them he doesn’t wanna see them anymore, and they go around badmouthing him, making out like he used them and lied to them to get them into bed then ditched them. Not like you he adds, and you wonder if it’s your imagination in the dim light or if his face reddens slightly as he says it, not meeting your eyes. Can I tell you something you ask him, and he nods as he breathes out smoke. Sure he replies, reaching over and crushing his cigarette butt out into the ashtray on the bedside table. You tell him that there’s something you’ve been thinking about, something you want him to do to you, and he looks at you then, his full attention on you. You feel your cheeks prickle with heat as you tell him it’s something he asked you about in his car, the second time the two of you fucked. His brow furrows as he thinks, and you swallow before telling him it’s something he asked if Steve had ever done, or tried to, something he said that maybe he’d do sometime. He frowns a moment longer and then you see understanding dawn on his face. He looks you in the eye. _Really_ he asks, and you look away, your face flushing fully now. Doesn’t matter you mumble, wishing you’d kept your mouth shut, let your embarrassment override your curiosity. He lifts your chin with his hand, makes you meet his eyes. He tells you that you don’t _ever_ have to feel embarrassed to want anything with him, to ask him for anything, that _nothing_ is off limits with him, fuck what anyone else thinks. There’s nothing wrong with two people enjoying each other’s bodies he tells you, even if everyone else tells you it’s gross or wrong or whatever. You nod, feeling a little less self conscious now you’ve said it and he reacted the way he did. He rolls away from you and opens a drawer in the bedside table, rummages for a second then slides it closed. He has whatever he was looking for in his hand, and he tucks it under his pillow before he turns back to you, pulling you to him and rolling you onto your side, facing away from him. He slides his arm under your neck and snakes it down the front of your body, resting his palm between your breasts. He asks you if you’re sure you wanna do this, and you push your nerves aside and say yes. He nuzzles into your neck, pushing his face into your hair and breathing in the smell of you deeply. He whispers to you, tells you he’ll stop any time, all you have to do is tell him, and you press a kiss to his arm underneath you, holding you. His hand wanders to your breast, squeezing it gently in his palm, brushing your nipple with his thumb, and as he does it his other hand slips downwards, caressing the curve of your ass, drifting between your legs. Jesus you’re so wet he breathes, and you moan as he dips a finger into you, slowly, then brushes it backwards over the tight hole you’ve invited him to claim tonight. You stiffen a little, an involuntary reflex, and he kisses your neck warmly, tells you it’s ok, it won’t hurt, he’ll make it feel _real_ good. You trust him. His hand moves away and you hear him fiddling with something, then when it returns his fingers are slick and slippery and you realise it was some kind of lube he was looking for and stashing in the bed. He circles that spot with one finger, exactly the same way he circles your clit, stroking gently, and it feels... nice. You’re surprised by that, by how sensual it feels, and you relax a little, even as you feel him start to put on a little pressure, pushing into you. His fingertip slips inside you a little and you moan quietly. It feels huge, and how the hell is he going to fit his dick in there you wonder, surely it’s not possible? He stills his hand for a moment, littering your shoulder and neck with soft kisses, rolling your nipple between his thumb and finger as you adjust to the sensation of him being in you, and then he pushes forward slowly, deeper into you. You moan a little louder, wanting him to both hurry up and take his time simultaneously, and you wiggle against him a little. That feel good baby he asks you, and you moan a yes into his arm. He moves inside you, slowly and carefully, drawing lazy circles with his finger as he slides it out of you and back in. He’s barely been doing this for a minute when you say his name, your voice wavering. He asks you if you want more, and you nod, pushing back into him. He laughs and moans at the same time, your longing turning him on like crazy. He pulls out of you slowly and in an instant he’s pressing against you again, two fingers this time, and as he sinks into you slowly you groan deeply and he pauses again, waiting. Don’t stop you tell him and you feel his lips curve into a smile against your back and then he’s pushing into you again, filling you and working his fingers inside you. You slip your hand between your legs and brush your clit, fuck it feels like you’re on fire there, you’re only stroking yourself for a few seconds and you’re coming, clenching around Billy’s fingers and sinking your teeth into the soft flesh of his inner arm, pulling on it. As your breathing slows he slides out of you and you feeling him pulling ever so slightly away from you, reaching behind himself for a moment, then you feel him stroking himself between your bodies, covering himself in lube. You want him _so_ badly, and if there was a trace of doubt in your mind when you started it’s evaporated now, knowing how good it feels, but then you feel him pressed against you and your earlier musings about his size return. He rubs the length of his cock against your dripping slit, coating it in your juices on top of whatever lube he's using, and he groans into your ear. This is gonna feel so good baby he tells you, his voice low and gravelly, and you believe him, knowing he wouldn’t lie to you, not about that. He holds himself where he needs to be and begins to press into you, and you’re surprised when after a few seconds of pressure he sinks into you suddenly, your body no longer resisting him, and you cry out as he moans loudly. He’s still for a few seconds, waiting for something, and you realise that isn’t all of him, that you can’t feel his body pressed to you yet, and he’s waiting for you, letting you have complete control. You push back a little and he places his hands on your hips, not pulling you to him, just holding you, letting you decide how fast you take him and how much. You move _oh_ so slowly, taking him into you just a little at a time, letting your body adjust to something it’s never done before, and eventually you’re skin to skin with him, full of him. The sensation is overwhelming, it feels like he’s filling you completely, stretching you _almost_ to the limit of pleasure. He asks you if you think you can take all of him and you say you are, aren’t you, because how can there be any more to take? He moans and laughs at the same time, tells you not quite, but it’s ok, this is enough, except it’s not, not now you know you could have just a little more, you want it all. You whisper for him to try it, and he exhales loudly before asking if you’re sure and you nod, breathing yes, so he takes over, pushing into you until he’s pressed against you tightly, your back resting against his chest and your ass tucked into his body, and the sensation of him so deep inside you and how huge his cock feels _there_ is _so_ fucking intense that you can barely think. Jesus you’re so fucking tight he pants, and you can’t help but wonder how long he’ll last. You don’t want this to stop, not yet, maybe not _ever_ , not in this moment at least. He tightens his grip on your hips and begins to pull out slowly, just barely, then moving back into you, small movements that feel oh so good as he stretches you open with his cock. He’s murmuring against your back, telling you that you feel like fucking heaven, you’re so tight, that he thought your pussy felt good but your ass is something else and your mind turns to mush. Touch yourself he moans, please baby, want to feel you come again, want to feel you squeeze my dick the way you did my fingers and your brain _just_ manages to get your hand to resume its movement on your clit, and just like before you’re coming in no time at all, calling out Billy’s name and grinding against him as he groans into your shoulder. You pant his name and he answers with a hmmm, barely able to speak. Fuck me you tell him, and that gets his attention. He asks you if you’re sure and you nod, saying it again. Fuck me fast Billy, please, your voice a whine of pleasure and wanting, and he’s thrusting before you’ve even finished, long fast strokes into you that feel so good you want to cry. His hands move up to your shoulders and he holds you there, pushing you down into him as he fucks your ass, something you _never_ thought you’d let anyone do, let alone him. You come together, your orgasm an explosion in your core, warmth drenching your skin, fingers and toes and face numb and tingling, barely registering him chanting your name as he clutches you tightly to him, still buried to the hilt inside you as his cock jerks and spasms. You lay there together for a while as he traces lines up and down the backs of your arm with his fingers. You ask him why he never told you it was that good, and he laughs. It would have ruined the surprise he tells you, and you smile to yourself at his answer as he gets off the bed to clean himself up. He pauses in the doorway, looks back over his shoulder. He tells you he’ll leave the shower running for you if you like... or you can come join him. You don’t need asking twice, and as you untangle yourself from the sheets he grins and walks away.


	13. Don’t Ever Think You Saw The Best Of Me, There’s A Side You’ll Never Know

The shower was good. Better than good. You’d soaped each other’s bodies up, hands sliding over each other’s skin, washing away the vague smell of lingering chlorine from Steve’s pool, a few spots of blood Billy had missed on his neck and chest, the sheen of sweat on your skin from sex. Billy had slipped a soapy hand between your legs and made you come again, the heat of the water and the slipperiness of the bubbles amplifying the sensation of his fingers on you. He’s towelling himself off as you wash your hair when he speaks, his voice sounding concerned. Do you really have to stop taking your birth control he asks, and you chuckle to yourself under the water. You tell him no, that you’d just said that in the moment as an excuse. You ask him how he knew you were on it in the first place, he’d never asked if you were but he’s also never been careful with you, and he tells you that Steve once bragged to Tommy about it, that he’d talked you into it so he didn’t have to use rubbers, and how much better it felt. You feel your face redden as you rinse the soap from your hair. Fucking Steve. Asshole. 

You watch him brushing his teeth as you dry yourself off,ask him if he has a spare toothbrush. Nope, but you can use mine he says with a grin, holding it out. That’s disgusting you tell him with a grimace, and he laughs. He starts listing all the places on your body where he’s had his tongue, working his way down from the top, and he’s just started to say whatever comes after your pussy when you throw the towel at him to shut him up, interrupting him, and he laughs some more. You take his toothbrush reluctantly, inspecting it before you run it under the faucet and put toothpaste on it. You’ve just started brushing when he pokes his head back around the bathroom doorframe. You even kissed me after that last one he says with a wink, disappearing fast as you launch the toothpaste at his smirking face. Idiot you think, smiling to yourself.

Was it ok you ask him as you lay in the darkness beside him wearing one of his t-shirts, faded and soft from a thousand washes. He asks you was _what_ ok, and you try not to blush in the dark. You know, you say, what we did earlier. You hear him chuckle under his breath. He tells you it was better than ok, it was fucking fantastic. You seemed to enjoy it he says, and your cheeks blaze red hot. Thank god it’s dark you think to yourself. You mumble that you did, more than you expected to actually, a _lot_ more. You’re surprised when you hear him say me too. Confused, you ask him what he means, wasn’t it good before, with other girls, and you’re gobsmacked when he shrugs and tell you he’s never done it before, that was the first time. You sit up on your elbow, straining to see his face in the dark, wanting to know if that’s true. Are you fucking with me you ask, and he turns his face to you, shakes his head. He tells you he’s bought it up before and girls are either outright disgusted, or they pretend to be curious, say maybe sometime and then never ask or want to. You were the first he says. You ask him if that’s true then how come he had stuff in the drawer, _you know_ , and you stop, hoping he’ll catch on so you don’t have to explain. He laughs. It’s good for jerking off he says, and all you can say is oh, right. You’re surprised again when he puts his arm out, waiting for you to nuzzle into him, but you do, resting your head on his chest as it rises and falls with his steady breathing. You smile as he kisses the top of your head. Night he whispers, and you whisper it back as you drift into sleep.   
  
As predicted news has travelled fast, and every eye is on you as you walk down the hallway on Monday morning. You ignore the stares, the whispers and the occasional giggle as girls gossip behind their hands as you make your way to your locker, and when you get there you’re surprised to find Billy leaning against it nonchalantly, picking at his nails with a penknife. He puts it away when he sees you, smiles that easy smile that makes your skin feel warm all over. Walk you to class he asks, and you burst out laughing. What he asks, smiling but confused, holding his hands up in question. You’ve got some balls you tell him, amazed at his brazen lack of giving a shit about what anyone else thinks. Don’t you know it baby he says with a wink, and you’re laughing so hard your ribs hurt before you know it. He puts out his arm and you hook yours into it with a grin, shaking your head resignedly as you make your way to Math together. 

By Thursday your fling with Billy is old news; rumour has it that Carol caught Tommy with some sophomore girl in his car after the basketball game last night and that’s all anyone is talking about. You stay out of it, sick of the drama and bullshit that comes with high school. You can’t wait to get away, go to college, leave Hawkins behind. When you come out of school on Friday afternoon Steve is waiting for you by your car. _Fuck_. You ask him what he wants, not in the mood for his shit, you have a pounding headache and you just wanna get home, take a bath and go to bed. He says he just wanted to let you know that you had some stuff at his, some clothes, a tape, makeup, that sort of stuff. He tells you he’s boxed it up and you can collect it whenever you’re ready. You feel bad now, for snapping at him. Thanks you mumble, asking him if you can collect it tomorrow. Sure he says, tomorrow’s fine. He tells you he’ll be in after lunch as he turns away, sadness etched into his face. You drive home in silence, not stopping to speak to Billy as you pass him in the parking lot.   
  
You’re painting your nails when you hear his car pull up in the driveway outside your house. You’d half expected him to show up last night, after you’d driven straight past him at school, but he didn’t, and you’d lain awake until well past midnight wondering if he was pissed at you, if he was out on a date, if he was screwing another girl in his car. He’s all smiles at the door, sauntering into the house like he owns it, slipping his boots off when you you tell him that your mom will pitch a fit if he gets anything on her pristine cream carpets, and he makes himself at home in your room, flopping down onto your bed and pulling you down with him. You shriek, holding your hands out stiffly, telling him you just did your nails and he’s gonna smudge them, but he just laughs and nuzzles his face into your cleavage as you wriggle on top of him. Billy wait, listen you pant as you struggle with him until you finally manage to sit up, his hands cupping your ass cheeks and his face a broad grin. Listen you say, as you blow your hair out of your face, and you tell him you have to go pick some stuff up from Steve’s, that he cornered you at school yesterday and asked you to come collect it. He asks you if you want him to go with you, but you shake your head, tell him no. You know it will only end in another fight, a slanging match at best, and besides, it’s only a box with a few bits in, it’s not like you’re moving out. He asks when you’re going, and you look at your watch. Now you tell him as you climb off him, straightening out your skirt and smoothing your hair. You say he can stay here, your mom’s out at lunch, she won’t be back for at least an hour. You tell him he can watch tv or something, make himself something to eat, you’re just going to grab your stuff and run, you’ll be ten minutes tops. He pouts at you, tells you not to be too long as he points the tv remote, flicks through the channels. You tell him you won’t, and as you go to walk away he grabs you by the wrist, pulls you down to where he lays on the bed and kisses you hard. Don’t be long he repeats in a whisper when he finally relinquishes your lips, your heart pounding. I won’t you whisper back again, not wanting to go at all.

Steve answers to door almost straight away, like he’s been waiting for you on the other side. Hell, maybe he was. He tells you that your stuffs in the kitchen, come on in, and you follow him into the house reluctantly. When he turns to you with the box in his hands you go to take it but he pulls it back, starts to speak, and you realise you’ve made a huge mistake coming here. He asks you if this is really it, are you really calling it a day, because that’s not what he wants. You try to be as gentle as you can, telling him that it’s what _you_ want, and that as much as you regret letting him find out about you and Billy the way he did, that doesn’t change anything, you’re still not happy and you don’t want to be with him anymore. He tells you he loves you, and that yeah, maybe he was a bit of a dick sometimes, but he was good to you, bought you nice things, took you out to nice places. Anger flashes in you. That’s what it’s all about to you isn’t it Steve you say, your voice steely. It’s about material things, buying affection with money, owning someone like a possession because you’ve paid for them. You ask if he ever stopped to think that you just wanted him to treat you with some respect, to stop talking to you like a stupid little girl, that he never even bothered to ask how you felt about anything. He slams the box down on the table and shouts back at you that you were too busy fucking Billy to have a conversation. You lose it, telling him you only started fucking Billy because _he_ never paid you any attention, not unless it was to criticise you or order you around, that you got so sick of it that you looked elsewhere for it. At my fucking house he screams at you, at my party, and you shout over him, telling him it was in his bathroom, where you’d been sat crying for ten minutes because he’d spoken to you like a piece of shit yet again in front if his friends. He’s stunned into silence. You step closer, lowering your voice, telling him you let Billy fuck you against the wall in that bathroom, that you asked him to, that you shouted Billy’s name as you came while Steve was downstairs playing at being king of the fucking world, and it was so fucking good you did it again, and again, and again, any opportunity you got. His expression falters a little and you realise you’ve said too much in anger, that you’ve taken it too far. He looks at you for a moment, his eyes narrowing, before he laughs. Oh my god, you’re in love with Billy he says, and you tell him to shut up, not to be stupid. He laughs again, says it all makes sense now, you’ve gone and fallen in love with Billy fucking Hargrove, that you’ve had his dick and fallen head over heels for him, just like every other slut in Hawkins that he bangs. You scream at him to shut up, to just leave you alone but instead he reaches out and grabs you, his fingers digging into your arms, and crashes his lips into yours, hard enough to hurt. You resist at first, slap your hands against his chest weakly, but after a moment you stop fighting it and you open your mouth to him, letting his tongue in, letting him kiss you passionately. He pushes you back against the table, knocking the box you were meant to be collecting onto the floor, scattering your possessions. You stand on your tiptoes and lift yourself onto the edge of the table, your skirt riding up as you do. His grip on your arms is starting to hurt, you’ll be left with bruises after, but instead of making you angry it’s turning you on, and your hands drop to his pants and you unbutton them, pushing them down as far as you can reach, his underwear with them. He’s hard already, and you grip his cock firmly, pumping it a few times with your hand as you pull your panties aside and then he’s pushing into you roughly, painfully, and you cry out, telling him it hurts, but he doesn’t care, and neither do you, not really. He fucks you furiously, pounding into you in anger, harder and faster than he’s ever screwed you before, and you’re taken completely by surprise when you come forcefully, screaming out as he grunts against your neck. You push him in the chest and he stumbles backwards, his pants tangled around his ankles and you crash to the floor together, him still inside you and you on top of him. You lean back, planting a hand on his thigh, squeezing his leg so hard your fingers ache and your nails are cutting crescents into his skin, and and then you reach down to where your bodies meet with the other one, rubbing your clit fervently as you ride him, grinding against him and circling your hips, calling out with every movement, and just as you reach a second peak he shouts your name and bucks his hips as he comes as hard as you do, his head rolling back on his shoulders as he arches his back and grips your thighs before slumping to the floor beneath you. You manage to hold yourself up, to not collapse on top of him, and you sit like that for a moment, breathlessly panting together, until Steve speaks. You learn that from Billy he asks, with spite in his voice, and tears of rage well in your eyes as you climb off him and pull your underwear back into place. Fuck you Steve you say, and you walk away as the tears fall, ignoring his protests about it being a joke, slamming the front door behind you. 

You sit in your car in your driveway in silence, your mind racing. What the fuck had just happened, why did you let it happen, and why do you feel like you’ve cheated on Billy when you’re not even a couple, when he’s got any number of girls in rotation? The door opens in front of you and he appears there as if he’s heard your thoughts, frowning when he sees you still sat in the driver’s seat, your eyes red and glassy. He comes out to the car, picking his way over the gravel barefoot, and sits beside you, looking at you. Did you get into a fight he asks and you nod, feeling tears prickle at your eyes again. He takes your arm gently then, brushes his thumb over the red fingerprints still visible on your skin, just starting to bloom into bruises. Did he hurt you he asks, his voice dangerously soft, and you press your eyes closed and shake your head. Because if he hurt you, he continues, anger filling his voice now, I’ll fucking kill him, I’ll break his fucking arms he says, and you reach out and put an hand on his chest. No Billy you whisper, telling him Steve didn’t hurt you. You can’t bring yourself to look at him as you say it, as you tell him that you had sex with Steve, that you didn’t mean to, that you didn’t even really want to, that you went there to get your things and that you ended up arguing, and that he kissed you and before you knew it you were kissing him back and then you were having sex, and you let him do it, that you wanted it but you didn’t want it at the same time, you were just so angry with him and it happened, and you wish to _god_ it fucking hadn’t, but it did and now you feel like shit. By the time you finish the tears are running down your face, and Billy’s looking down at his lap, but he hasn’t said a word and you feel so fucking sick you could throw up right here and now. Say something Billy you beg him, your voice desperate and pleading, telling him you’re sorry and you wish you could take it back. His voice is quiet when he asks you if you want to get back with Steve, and you shake your head vigorously. God no you say, laughing shrilly through the tears, absolutely not, you tell him that’s the _last_ thing you want. He thinks for a moment, then tells you that he can’t stop you from doing what you want, that you’re a free agent, you can fuck who you like, but you shake your head again, cutting him off when you tell him that you don’t _want_ to fuck anyone else, you’re not interested in anyone else. You tell him that you know that you’re not a couple, that he isn’t your boyfriend, and that he can carry on seeing as many girls as he likes, but that _you_ don’t want to sleep with anyone else. There’s silence for a moment, and then he speaks, so quietly that you can barely hear him. I’m not seeing anyone else he says, his fingers fiddling with the frayed hole in the knee of his jeans. He tells you he hasn’t for a long time, not since the night before the two of you screwed in the locker room after cheerleading practice. Oh you say quietly, the tension in the car almost unbearable, and you ask him why. Didn’t need to he shrugs, his tone casual. He lifts his head, squints as he stares through the windshield. Didn’t really want to. Oh you say again, not knowing what else to say, what to do to make it right. He meets your eyes, sighs deeply. Come on he says, taking your hand in his, let’s go inside. He lifts your entwined hands to his lips, presses them to your knuckles in a kiss before he climbs out of the car. You follow him into the house, your fingers wrapped in his.


	14. I Told You I Was Trouble, You Know That I’m No Good

Are you angry with me you ask him, shattering the silence that hangs between you as you lay side by side in your bed, the only light in the room coming from the moon outside. At first you don’t think he’s heard you, so you clear your throat and you’re about to repeat yourself when he speaks, a single word. No. You roll onto your side, trying to read his expression properly in the semi-darkness, trying to judge whether he’s telling you the truth. He sighs heavily. I’m not angry with you he says, his tone a little softer and more sincere, but still, it doesn’t sound like the truth. You speak quietly, ask him not to lie to you, tell him he’s never lied to you before, so please, please don’t lie now. It’s ok if you’re angry with me you tell him, and he sighs again. He tells you he’s angry with Steve, for worming his way back into your panties, for pushing himself onto you when you were so vulnerable, for being such a dick. He’s angry with himself, furious in fact, for letting you go over there alone, knowing Steve would probably try something like this, knowing he’d want you back, of course he wants you back. And yeah he says, quietly, he’s angry with you, a little, because you let Steve do that, let him have you, let him fuck you, and that makes him angry at himself all over again, because he has no right to be angry with you, you don’t belong to him, you can do what you want with who you want. You shuffle closer to him in the bed, closing the distance between you, put your hand out to touch his chest and wait, testing the waters. He lets you, and you relax slightly, start to run your fingertips over his skin. It’s ok that you’re angry with me you whisper, and something in your tone makes him turn his head ever so slightly, eyes searching your face in the moonlight. Maybe you just need to... let it out you say, your voice hesitant. Let it out how he asks you, and you feel his fingers brush your thigh, moving up the outside of your body. You swallow, your mouth suddenly dry and your heart hammering in your chest. However you need to let it out you breathe, and you’ve barely gotten the words out before he’s on top of you, pressing your body into the mattress beneath you, one hand around your throat tightly and the other gripping your hip, pinning you down. He dips his head, nipping at your neck just below his hand, grazing the skin there with his teeth and tugging on it. You whine a little in your throat and he pulls back, looks at you, relaxes his grip a little but doesn’t let go. What if it’s too much he asks, frowning, what if he goes too far, and you shake your head slowly, dismissively. You tell him you need a word, something so he knows to stop, a safe word, that you wouldn’t say in bed normally. He think for a moment as he resumes his nips at your throat, his teeth sharp and his bite hard. His eyes drift to the Hawkins High t-shirt slung over the back of your chair. Tigers he says, smirking and you laugh. Tigers you repeat, tigers is good, but then he flexes his fingers around your throat, tightening his grip again, cuts your words and laughter off. His mouth moves back to your neck, sucking at your flesh hard, leaving it red and covered with teeth marks. The hand on your hips moves between your legs, the heel of his palm pressed to your clit and grinding into it through the thin fabric of your panties. You try to move your hips, to wriggle into his hand, increase the friction between you, but he growls against your collarbone, tells you not to move, and you still yourself with a whimper. He presses his fingers against you, the damp material over your slit pushing into you, chaffing you. He murmurs into your ear, tells you you’re so fucking wet, he can feel it soaking into your panties, and then he asks you if Steve made you this wet earlier. Panic rises in you and you look at him, eyes wide, wondering what the hell he’s doing. He smiles at you just a little, nods once, letting you know it’s ok, just go with it, and you shake your head, stutter a no. Good he whispers, and then he literally rips the crotch of your panties open, tearing them away from your body as you cry out in shock. He watches your face as he traps your clit between his thumb and finger, pinching it and pulling on it, wrenching sharp little gasps from your mouth as you twist your hips beneath him, instinctively trying to pull away from him but not really wanting to. He stops for a moment to strip your t-shirt off, pulling it over your head and then pushing you back down onto the bed, his hands moving to your breasts to knead them roughly before he takes one into his mouth, sucking hard on your nipple, working it between his tongue and the roof of his mouth, needling it with his teeth. You moan and writhe beneath him, lifting your hips and trying to rub against his rock hard cock as it presses into your thigh, but he pulls away each time you do, and after the third time he slams you to the bed by your shoulders, telling you enough, his voice hard. He looks into your eyes as he tells you you’ll lay there and take whatever he does, whatever he gives you, and you’ll be patient. He asks if you understand him, and you whimper a pained yes. Good girl he says, and those two words send a thrill straight down your spine, making you shiver. He sits back on his heels between your legs, hooks his fingers into what’s left of your panties and pulls them down your legs, tossing them aside. Spread your legs he tells you and you do, drawing them up the bed and letting them fall to either side of him. He shakes his head slowly, tells you he can’t believe you let Steve have your pussy after all the times he’s shown you how much better he is, how much more he can please you. You feel your face redden in the dim light, and Billy laughs. Was he good he asks, and you have no idea what to say, how to answer, you weren’t expecting this. Was he better than me he purrs, sensing your hesitation, dragging a finger up your wet folds, and you whisper no. Did he fuck you with his fingers first he asks and you say no again, quicker this time, a little louder. He plunges two fingers deep into your sodden hole, forcing a cry from you, before he draws them out and brings them up to your mouth. Taste yourself he tells you, so you take his fingers into your mouth, suck on them slowly, pushing your tongue against them the way you do with his cock when you give him head. He moans softly. Did you suck his dick he asks and you shake your head, his fingers still in your mouth, pushing backwards into your throat now. Good he says, before he draws them out and moves them back between your legs. He toys with you, rubbing and stroking and teasing but never in one place long enough to start to build towards a climax, denying you any real pleasure. More than once his fingers slide down to your ass, run over your tight hole and then back up, making you gasp and moan. He pulls away suddenly, sits up again, tells you to get on your knees. Your legs feel like jelly beneath you as you kneel for him on all fours, breathing heavily. Suddenly a slap rings in the air like a whip crack and a sharp sting of pain spreads across your ass cheek as he spanks you hard and you cry out. It’s barely died on your lips before he slaps your skin again, harder this time, and you call out louder, and he slaps again, and again, and again, harder every time, and you lose count after the fourth, or maybe it’s the fifth, but he keeps going, until your ass cheek is raw and red, a raised handprint blazing there, tears in your eyes. He stops and presses a soft kiss to your burning flesh, tender, almost lovingly, before he moves behind you and holds his cock against your pussy, then buries himself in you in one swift thrust as you moan his name. He pushes your shoulders and head down into the mattress, your ass sticking straight up into the air, his cock deep in your cunt, and then he begins to fuck you, deep idle thrusts that make you whine and gasp. He spreads your cheeks apart from behind, watching as he plunges in and out of you, tells you he loves watching himself fuck you, watching his dick pounding in and out of your cunt. Does it feel good he asks you and you wail a strangled yes as you hurtle towards orgasm, every sense in your body overwhelmed. Do I fuck you better than Steve he asks and you pant yes into the sheets, sweat running off your body, and he laughs, tells you to remember that next time you see Steve, remember how good my cock feels baby, remember how good I fuck you. It doesn’t take long before he telling you he’s going to come, asks you if you want him to come in you and you cry out yes, yes Billy, come in me, fill me, and then he is, and your name in his mouth and the feeling of his cock pulsing inside you pushes you over the edge right behind him, your eyes rolling back into blackness and your limbs quivering. You lay in his arms afterwards as he runs his fingers through your hair, and you say his name, about to tell him that you really are sorry, but he presses a finger to your lips. Shush he tells you, it’s done now, we don’t need to talk about it again, and he replaces his finger with his lips. You’re on the cusp of sleep when you hear him whisper into the darkness, words meant not for your ears, but for the night, as he tells the shadows that he was only angry because he cares about you. 


	15. But I’d Be Yours, If You’d Be Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s taken me a long time to update this, and I’m so sorry. You may have seen on my other fic that we had a bereavement in my family, and it was a really tough time, especially combined with COVID and homeschooling!  
> But I’m back in a flow now, in fact I’ve just finished the last chapter of this! Just editing to do now.  
> I’m also going to go back and re-edit the chapters before this to make them easier to read.  
> Thanks for sticking with this. I hope you enjoy reading it.

He doesn’t know. Doesn’t know that you heard what he said last night, when he thought you were asleep. You’ve been thinking about it ever since, wondering how things ended up so complicated. You’re relieved that things are over with Steve, that you don’t have to keep playing a game of charades for everyone else around you, just to keep up appearances.  
You tell yourself you don’t want a relationship with Billy, you know it would never work, could never work, he’s too wild and free to be tied down. But then you think back to what he said in your car yesterday afternoon, when you told him you’d fucked Steve, when he told you he hadn’t slept with anybody else since early in your... fling. Does he want more? You think about how jealous he was about what you’d done with Steve that day, about the way he’d punished you that night. Every time you think about that you feel something burning in your core, have to press your thighs together to try to push it back down.  
It turns you on, it’s as simple as that. You like it. Something about submitting to him completely makes you so fucking horny it’s unreal. And it’s not like it was with Steve, who belittled you and patronised you. You know that in reality, you have all the control. That you let him do those things, that you could tell him to stop at any time and he would, that you decide how far it goes and how much he pushes. It’s a thrill. But does that jealousy mean he wants you? That night in Steve’s pool, when you tried to break things off, he told you that the only valid reason you had was the one that you wouldn’t say, that you were starting to have feelings for him. He told you he already knew, and you’re certain it wasn’t your imagination that made you think he felt it too. Fuck.

You pull into the parking lot at school on Monday morning, and Steve’s waiting for you by your spot, the space you always park in. You could scream. You don’t make eye contact as you park up, as you check your makeup in your mirror. You climb out and ignore him as you start to cross the parking lot, ignore him calling your name and asking you to talk to him, please.  
Just as you’re about to walk through the doors you snap, shout at him, ask him what the fuck he wants as you turn to him, shock him into silence. You can feel eyes watching you, people waiting for an argument to break out, or better yet an actual fight. When he speaks his voice is quiet and he asks if you can talk somewhere else, without all these people watching and you tell him no, he can talk right here or not at all.  
He sighs, resigned to the world watching this conversation. He tells you he’s sorry, for what he said on Saturday, that he didn’t mean it. He tells you he’d like to take you out one night this week, wherever you want to go, to show you how sorry he is, that he’s been thinking and you’re right, he didn’t appreciate you and he’s sorry he took you for granted, he wants to be a better boyfriend. You cut him off, tell him you don’t want a boyfriend, not him, not anyone.  
A low purr comes from behind you, Billy asking if everything’s ok here, a hand resting on the small of your back. You smile at him, grateful that he’s interrupted. It’s fine you tell him, Steve was just going to class. His eyes flick between you and Billy. You said you don’t want a boyfriend he says. You grit your teeth, tell him you don’t.  
Hey he says, talking to Billy. You know where your girlfriend was on Saturday he asks with a smirk. Billy smiles at him, a slow, dangerous smile. He tells Steve you’re not his girlfriend, but sure, he knows where you were, you went to pick up some shit from your loser ex, came back without it though, decided it wasn’t worth keeping.  
Steve’s smirk falters as you both turn away from him, but then he shouts, wanting everyone to hear him, asking Billy if you told him what happened at his, goading him, and you see Billy’s jaw tense next to you, closes his eyes. He opens them as he turns, steps towards Steve until he’s stood barely inches from him, his face almost touching Steve’s. They look like they’re about to kiss as Billy leans into him, to speak lowly in his ear.  
He tells Steve sure, you told him. You told him that Steve took advantage of you being upset to screw you, that you told him it was a mistake and you wish it hadn’t happened and that you don’t ever wanna get back with Steve. He tells Steve that the difference between the two of them is that Billy doesn’t believe that you belong to him, so you didn’t need to hide what you do or lie to him, that you can sleep with whoever you want to and you’re honest with him about it. He pulls back, grins at Steve and claps a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it just a little too hard judging by the way Steve grimaces and leans away. This didn’t go how you expected it to did it he says, and the look on Steve’s face says it all. 

Billy’s words turn over and over in your mind all through the day. He doesn’t believe you belong to him. You can sleep with whoever you want. You’re confused. How can he be saying that now, when a few nights ago he was telling you that he was mad that you slept with Steve, whispering into the dark that he cares about you. You’re so fucking confused.

Weeks pass by, and he’s started to make a habit of climbing through your window at night. He’s even snuck in after you’ve fallen asleep, waking you only when he climbed into bed with you, and thank god your mom was out of town that night because you’d screamed like someone being murdered. You’d been screaming for different reasons not long after.  
Tonight you’re awake so you hear him when he pushes the window up in its frame and climbs through. You can make out the shape of him in the moonlit darkness as he toes off his boots and starts to strip, and you can’t deny the warmth pooling between your legs as you lay in bed watching him, knowing what that body looks like in the light.  
Just as he lifts a foot to pull the leg of his pants off you ask if he’s ever thought of calling ahead and he jumps out of his skin, almost tumbling to the carpet, making you laugh. He slips under the covers and his hands are roaming your body as soon as he does, pulling you to him, tracing your curves and dips with his fingers, setting your skin on fire. His lips claim your throat, kissing their way up it and along your jawline as his fingers skim up your inner thigh. You writhe in his arms, pushing yourself into his body, craving the feeling of him. You can’t help it, can’t stop wanting him, no matter how much you keep telling yourself you need to keep him at arms length, detach yourself emotionally, maybe even stop fucking him.  
Steve’s words from the last fight you had with him echo in your head, you’ve gone and fallen in love with Billy fucking Hargrove, and then Billy’s asking you what’s wrong, don’t you want to. You shake your head, tell him it’s not that, don’t stop, and his hands are moving again, caressing your skin, brushing your nipple with his thumb. You moan softly, lift your hips in an attempt rub yourself against him, to ease the empty ache between your legs. He grinds against you and you shift against him and then he’s inside you, filling you, and you gasp as he bites your lip as he bottoms out in you.  
He pulls your arms above your head, grips your wrists and pins them to the bed with one hand, his other slipping under the small of your back and lifting your hips as he thrusts into you lazily, littering your jaw with kisses, his breath hot on your cheek. You’re moaning his name, begging him not to stop, your mind racing and your body burning under his touch and suddenly they’ve slipped from your mouth, Steve’s words, words you’ve been turning over in your mind for days, weeks, questioning whether they could be true.  
It’s only when he pauses that you realise what you’ve just said, and panic rises in you, clawing at your chest like a rat trying to scratch its way out. What did you just say he asks, and you tell him nothing, you said nothing, you just moaned his name. He eyes you for a second in the dark before he starts moving again, resuming his lazy thrusts, and before long you’re telling him you’re coming and his grip is biting into your wrists where he’s holding them tightly as you buck your hips up as you ride out your climax. He traces your ear with his lips as you breathe heavily beneath him, your chest heaving and your eyelids fluttering.  
I heard what you said he whispers and you tense under him. Shit. He doesn’t stop though, he keeps going, slow and deep, and he whispers some more, tells you he heard every word, even though you tried to deny it, tells you he knows you mean it even though you’ll try to take it back, tells you it’s too late, you’ve said it now, it’s out in the open.  
He lets go of your wrists, pulls a hand down to press it to his back, and as you dig your nails into his skin he groans and takes you harder. He’s kissing your neck as he thrusts into you sloppily, panting into your skin. He starts to say something else, but you shake your head, press a hand to his mouth. Don’t Billy you moan, don’t say it, don’t think about it, just take me.  
He bites down on the fingers over his lips, draws them into his mouth and swirls his tongue over them as his teeth hold them, a bittersweet mix of pleasure and pain. When he relinquishes them he takes your hand with his, entwines his fingers with yours, holding onto it tightly. You can feel him watching you, his eyes burning into you, searing through you as he fucks you, your legs wrapped around his waist, your nails marking his flesh, your fingers linked with his, and before you can stop it you’re saying it again, letting the words tumble from your mouth because you can’t keep them in.  
I love you you tell him, but his eyes never leave yours, his rhythm never falters, he just carries on fucking you as he gazes at you. Except he’s not fucking you, not really. He’s making love to you. It might not be gentle and sweet and soft like it was with Steve, but he’s still making love to you. Because that’s what love is like with Billy. It’s hard and intense and it burns like fire, like his touch, flames licking at your skin until it blisters and splits and you can’t stand the pain any longer. It is dark and twisted and hungry, it will eat you alive if you let it, consume you whole until there’s nothing left but bones and then spit them out.  
But you want it. You want him. You want it all. You know that it’s toxic. But it’s yours. Yours and his, and nobody else’s. Something the two of you share, shutting the rest of the world out.  
You come out of nowhere, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train, obliterating you, Billy right behind you, his grip on your fingers tightening painfully, and he cries out your name as his eyes roll back, hips stuttering as he fills you.  
He’s said your name in bed before, whispered in the dark as your bodies move together, called out at that moment of climax where pleasure skirts unconsciousness, but he’s never said it quite like this. You’re not even sure what’s different really; it’s the same name, the same situation. But this time it’s deeper, more sensual and evocative, he means it. He’s not saying it for you, proving a point that he knows who he’s with, that you’re not just some nameless lay. He’s saying it for himself, because he wants to, wants to feel it on his lips and his tongue, taste it and hear it as he takes you.  
He stays there as he softens inside you, collapses into you and buries his face in your hair, your throat, his lips pressed to your skin as if you’ll disappear if he can’t smell and taste you as well as see and feel and hear you, as if he needs you filling everything one of his five senses. You drift like that, his weight reassuring, comforting, his fingers still tangled in yours. His breathing deepens and slows as sleep takes him. You surrender to it as well, letting it slip over you like a blanket.  
When you wake in the night he’s rolled off you at some point, but his fingers are still tucked into yours. You can feel the slick slipperiness of his seed on your inner thighs where it’s trickled out of you, and you slide them together slowly, revelling in the sensation. Billy stirs beside you, and then his arm is over your waist, pulling you into him, tucking you tight against his body, the hand clutching yours held against your stomach so you’re completely ensconced by him, his face pressed into your shoulder blade. He’s still holding you when you wake up in the morning. 


	16. She Drives Me Crazy, And I Can’t Help Myself

There’s a change after you tell him you love him that night.Not for the worse, not at all. Just a subtle shift in the way things are. You haven’t said it since, and he hasn’t said it back, and you haven’t so much as discussed what _this_ is, between you, but things have altered.  
  
For starters he hasn’t slept at home in three weeks. Every night, without fail, he climbs through your window and into your bed. You don’t even always have sex. Some nights you just talk until you fall asleep together, and one night he came in after you were already asleep and you didn’t even realise until you woke up in the morning and rolled over to find him laying there next to you. You leave your house together in the morning, either sneaking Billy out of the front door with you or him climbing back out of the window and meeting him out on the street by his car. You ride into school together, and he waits for you in the afternoon, drops you off home.

You know people at school are talking. You’ve heard the gossip floating round, heard jealous girls debating what you have that no other girl in Hawkins had, what could have made the elusive Billy Hargrove become a one woman guy. It’s funny, but it also unsettles you in some way, because you don’t know the answer to that yourself.

Steve is still moping. You catch him watching you from across the hallway, his locker opposite yours, leaning against it with hurt in his eyes as he watches you laughing with Carol and Vicki between classes and at lunch. You hate that it makes you feel guilty.

You decide you’ve had enough one day when he shakes his head as he watches Billy run his hand over your ass cheek as he leaves you in the hallway to go meet Tommy for a smoke. You walk over to him, ask him what his problem is. He laughs bitterly.

No problem here he tells you, throwing books into his locker. Just glad I found out what you’re really like before I could commit properly he tells you, slamming his locker door. You know I was gonna propose graduation night he scoffs, and your irritation dissipates.

You reach for his arm but he shrugs you off as he turns to walk away, and you’re fairly sure you caught a glimpse of tears in his eyes. You sigh. Tell him you know that nothing you say will change his mind, but for what it’s worth, you’re sorry. He scoffs as he wipes at his eyes with his sleeve, but when you reach out to touch him this time he lets you, and you put a hand on his shoulder.

You say it again, your voice softer this time. Tell him you mean it, you really are sorry. That you never meant for any of this, that you should have talked to him, told him how you felt. You tell him that you can’t take it back now but that you’re sorry you hurt him, that you thought it would make you feel good, getting one over on him, but that all it’s doing is making you feel like shit every time you see him.

He tells you he feels pretty shitty every time he sees you with your boyfriend too. You clench your jaw, teeth grinding together. He’s not my boyfriend you tell him, your voice low.

He turns to you, eyes you suspiciously. Looks like it from here he says, his tone questioning. You shake your head. Tell him you don’t know what it is, but he isn’t your boyfriend. Steve frowns. But you’re coming to and from school together he says. He asks you if Billy’s sleeping at your house, and you drop your eyes, look at the floor. He laughs that bitter laugh again.

So you’re sleeping together, coming to school together and leaving together every single day, you might as well be living together, but he’s **not** your boyfriend he laughs, throwing his hands up. My bad he says sarcastically, and that anger rises in you again and you’re raising your voice before you know it. You tell him you don’t know what it is, that you haven’t had that conversation yet, that you don’t even know what you want. But you don’t want me Steve says, his voice barely a whisper.

It hurts, hearing him like that. You never really saw his vulnerable side when you were together, he was always full of bravado, typical macho teen. Sure, he could be soft with you, but you’ve never seen him hurting before. Your speaking before you realise you’re going to, words that you haven’t planned coming out of your mouth.

Why don’t we talk after school you ask him, and he lifts his face to look at you, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. You tell him not to get excited, it’s not a date, you don’t want to get back with him, but you do want to explain a few things, talk to him about them, try to put some things right between you. He thinks for a moment before he nods, says ok quietly. Maybe I could drive you home he says, and you shake your head. No you tell him softly, not after last time. You tell him to meet you at Benny’s, you’ll talk there, where you won’t be alone together. Ok he says again, a little less dejected this time.

As you turn to walk away he says your name, and when you turn back he’s smiling softly. Thanks he says, and you just nod. Your stomach is twisting and churning. Why are you doing this? You could have had a clean break, could have walked away, and now you’re meeting him to talk? And the fact that you wouldn’t get a ride with him just shows that you don’t trust yourself to be alone with him. What a fucking mess.  
Your stomach drops when you realise you’ll have to tell Billy to drop you at the diner after school, that you’ll have to tell him why. This day just gets better.

———

When you climb into the Camaro after school you feel sick, physically sick. Billy grins at you, leans in for a kiss. You let him brush your lips with his before you put out a hand and place it on his chest, tell him to wait. He pulls back, looking puzzled. I need to tell you something you say, and the look changes from puzzled to stony cold. Don’t be mad you say, before you explain that you’ve asked Steve to meet you at Benny’s so you can clear the air. You tell him that you hate all the awkwardness and bad feeling between you all, that you want everyone to move on with a clean slate, that the only way to do that is to talk to Steve, to apologise properly.  
  
Billy’s face is dark. He nods curtly before he starts the Camaro, guns it out of the parking lot. You fumble with your seat belt as you tell him to slow down, stop being so stupid. He ignores you, keeps his eyes on the road.

You told Steve I didn’t belong to you you tell him, your nerves giving way to irritation. You tell him that he said you didn’t need to hide things or lie to him, yet when you’re honest he gets pissed off. He can’t have it both ways you tell him, him saying that you’re not his and can sleep with who you like, then getting mad because you’re meeting someone to talk, to apologise for fucking Billy behind his back in the first place. 

You end up shouting at him, telling him you were with Steve for four years, fours fucking years, and the least you can do is apologise to him properly. Billy’s head whips around and he screams at you, screams that you apologised just fine when you fucked him the day you went to pick your things up, why don’t you suck his dick and really show him how sorry you are today. You fall silent, slump back in your seat, hot tears prickling at your eyes. 

He pulls up outside the diner and screeches to a halt, the drumming of his fingers on the steering wheel punctuating the silence. You blink furiously, determined not to cry. His eyes are glassy, like he’s holding back tears. You soften a little at the sight.

Billy you say softly, reaching out to him. He doesn’t stop you, but he doesn’t acknowledge you either. Your hand brushes his arm and he tenses beneath it but doesn’t draw away. I’m sorry that I did that you tell him quietly, and he swallows audibly. I never intended for it to happen, and I am truly sorry. You sigh softly. But you said it was done with, after... after that night you tell him. Tell him that he told you you didn’t need to talk about it again, that it was done and dusted. And then you say things to Steve like ‘she can sleep with who she likes’ and ‘she doesn’t belong to me’ you say, desperation in your voice now, and it confuses the fuck out of you.

Your voice is almost a whisper as you tell him that you said you loved him almost a month ago, and he told you that he knew you meant it, that he hasn’t slept at home since then, but you still have no idea whether he wants you to be his girlfriend or not. The muscles in his arm twitch under your hand, his knuckles whitening where he’s gripping the wheel.  
  
When he speaks his voice is rough, his tone flat. Told you I’m not one for commitment he says as he stares through the windshield, and his words cut through you like a knife. You press your eyes closed, nod slightly as you withdraw your hand. Thanks for the ride you whisper as you turn to climb out of the car. He says nothing, and the second you close the door behind you he screeches out of the parking lot, tyres spinning and kicking up gravel.

Steve is waiting for you when you walk into the diner, and he stands as you approach the table, smiles at you. Something inside you breaks and you let out a strangled sob, and his smile gives way to a look of concern. Hey he says, what’s up, and you shake your head as tears run down your cheeks.  
  
He takes hold of you, folds you into his arms, and you let yourself go in spite of the warning voice in the back of your head. His embrace is familiar, comforting, and you rest your cheek against his chest as he tucks you into his body and strokes your hair. His voice is soothing, telling you it’s ok, he’s got you, just let it out, and you stand that way for a little while as your sobs turn to sniffles.  
  
When you pull away from him, eyes red and puffy, he brushes a tear from your cheek with his thumb. You ok he asks, and you nod. I’m ok you say quietly, and he regards you for minute before he says come on, let’s sit down.  
  
You slide into the booth opposite him, an awkwardness returning between you as you feel him watching you. He reaches across the table, takes your hand and squeezes it softly. You don’t have to tell me he says, and you look up at him. He smiles at you, and it’s a warm, genuine smile. It’s none of my business he says, and you’re surprised by that. He clears his throat before he continues, tells you that he just wants you to know that if you want somebody to talk to, you can talk to him. I know it might be awkward he says, looking down at your hands on the table, but I want to be your friend he says, looking back at you. His face is open, his expression earnest, and you think he actually means it.

He tells you that you were together for four years, that he knows you don’t wanna be with him any more, but that he cares about you more than anyone else in his life. If all I can be is your friend he says, looking at your hands again, then that’s enough for me. You squeeze his hand, and he looks up at you, smiling gratefully at him. Thank you you murmur, and he nods. Sure he says, before he releases his grip on you. 

He picks up a menu, looks it over. Wanna get something to eat he asks, and you shrug. Promise I won’t order for you he says, an eyebrow raised, and you laugh.

———

The pair of you talk for the best part of an hour over fries and milkshakes, and somehow it feels like old times, in the early days of your relationship with him when you were more friends then anything else. You kind of miss that easy friendship between the two of you, before things were complicated by feelings and sex and Billy fucking Hargrove.

You sigh as you check your watch, tell Steve you should probably think about going home, you’ve gotta walk back and your mom will be pissed if you miss dinner. I don’t mind giving you a ride he says, and you raise an eyebrow. You sure you ask him, and he shrugs. Gotta go that way anyway he says, tells you it’d make no sense for you to walk. You accept, and for once he doesn’t argue when you you offer pay the bill. Maybe he really has been thinking about the way things were you muse.

He drives you home the way he has so many times over the last four years, except this time there’s an uneasy silence in the air, a marked change from the diner.You wonder if some of it is the song that’s playing on the radio, Benjamin Orr asking who’s gonna drive you home in his smooth voice, almost romantic. You ignore the way the hair on your arms stands on end.

When Steve pulls up outside your house he turns to you, smiles softly. Thanks for this afternoon he says, and you smile back awkwardly. He looks like he’s about to say more, but he seems to think better of it. He nods to something through the window behind you, tells you he thinks someone wants to talk to you.

You don’t even need to look to know it’s Billy, and your stomach does a lazy somersault, a mixture of apprehension and nerves over relief. I’ll see you tomorrow at school you tell Steve, and he nods. You’re just about to shut the door when he calls your name, and you lean into the car, wait for him to speak. Just... be careful he says, and you laugh, tell him it’s a little late for that. He waves as he pulls away, and you brace yourself as you turn to walk up your driveway, toward Billy, stood there with his hands in his pockets looking nervous.

You ask him what he wants, and you’re surprised by how steady your voice is, almost harsh. He runs his hand through his hair, sighs deeply. I’m sorry he says, and you huff a laugh. Please he says, hear me out. You walk past him, rummaging in your bag for your keys as you try to compose yourself. You don’t look back at him as you tell him he’s got five minutes, leaving the door open behind you for him to follow.

———

He follows you up the stairs, waits for you to sit on the end of your bed before he sits cross legged on the floor in front of you, looking more like a little boy than a man. He picks at his sock nervously, and you’re just about to ask him what he wants again when he speaks, his voice low. He tells you that he’s sorry for the way he spoke to you in the car, for the things he said. Tells you he didn’t mean it, not really, that he was just lashing out. I know it’s wrong he says, and he looks up at you, his grey blue eyes an ocean of misery. He tells you that he doesn’t know how to be any other way, that that’s his defence mechanism, the wall he puts up to keep people out so he can’t get hurt. Hurt them first he says, sounding utterly miserable. 

He pulls the pendant that hangs around his neck out from under his shirt, holds it up. Remember this he asks, and you nod. He tells you that his mother gave it to him, one of the last gifts he got from her before she left, disappeared into thin air. You’ve seen what my father does to me he says, his lips pressed into a thin line. She left to get away from him he tells you, his thumb rubbing the pendant in his grip absentmindedly. He tells you that he’s never felt so hurt and alone as the morning he woke up to find Neil sat in the kitchen, reading a note that his mother had left, saying she wouldn’t be back. She left me with him, abandoned me he says, an edge of anger to his voice, before it softens as he continues. He tells you that since then he’s never let anyone in, never let anyone care about him and never cared about anyone else. That’s why I am the way I am he says, and your heart breaks for him. You slip off the bed and sit in front of him on the carpet, knee to knee.

And then you came along he laughs, and you smile. He tells you that you turned everything on it’s head, because he couldn’t shut you out. Fuck knows I tried he says, laughing again. Never could quite manage it he adds, his hand moving to stroke a fingertip across your knee. You got under my skin he whispers, and now you’re so deep that I can’t cut you out without doing too much damage to myself. He sighs, leans back and stretches before he shifts so he’s kneeling in front of you. 

So I had to decide he says, reaching across to take your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles, whether to cut you out regardless and self destruct in the process, or whether to let you in and run the risk of getting hurt so bad it happens anyway. He lifts your hand to his face, presses your palm to his cheek as he closes his eyes, savours your touch before he turns and presses a kiss to it. It’s not gonna be easy he whispers, his voice wavering. He tells you that he’s possessive, and jealous, that he lashes out and gets angry, as a tear slips from underneath his lashes. I don’t know how to love anyone, I don’t know how to be that way he says as he opens his eyes, and looks right into yours. But if you think you can put up with all that he says, watching for your reaction, then I want to be yours.

Your heart pounds against your rib cage, your stomach flip flopping in your belly.

Are you asking me to be your girlfriend you ask him, tilting your head to one side, and the corner of his mouth turns up in a smile. Guess so he breathes, and you giggle. You lift yourself up on your knees, take his face in your hands and lay your mouth over his. His lips are salty, his cheeks wet, and he opens his mouth to you so you can brush his tongue softly with yours before you break away from him to look at him.

That a yes he asks, and you nod. Yes you whisper as you claim his lips again, pulling him to the floor by his shirt as he falls between your legs, his hands moving to your hair to tangle his fingers in it automatically. You reach down and palm his hardening cock through his jeans and he sighs your name against your lips, pushes his hips forward as your hand moves up to unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants. 

Fuck me Billy you mumble as you push them down just enough that his dick springs free from them, pressing into your inner thigh, and he groans as he reaches down to push your skirt up, bunching it around your hips. His hand slips between your legs, finds that delicious wet heat that feels so good to you and then he’s moaning, trailing his lips down your jaw.

So wet for me baby he whispers, pulling your panties aside and dragging his fingers through your slick folds and up to your clit. His fingers slip over that swollen nub, making you moan and writhe beneath him, your voice keening as you ask him again to fuck you, practically begging.

You want me he asks you, and you tell him yes, tell him you want him, want him inside you, filling you. You lift your hips to press yourself against his fingers harder as they move on your clit, trying to make him go faster. He shakes his head as he licks and nips at your throat and neck, as he pulls on your ear lobe with his teeth.

Tell me you love me he purrs, and you come undone beneath him, your orgasm pulsing through your body, limbs going slack and soft.

I love you Billy you whisper as you shudder in his arms, and he pushes into you as you say it, filling you as you cry out. He rests his forehead on yours as he pulls out of you before pounding back into you again, drawing a scream from your mouth and shifting you across the carpet. He lifts your leg, his fingers digging into your thigh as he holds it over his hip. Tell me he says as he looks into your eyes, drawing back and you say it again, tell him you love him again as he thrusts into you hard again, calling out. Again he pants, and you shout it as he fucks into you, over and over again, in perfect time with each other, you telling him you love him as he snaps his hips forward each time and bottoms out in you. Your back is on fire, carpet burn covering your shoulders and hips, but all you can think about is the sweet, aching pain in your cunt as he slams into you over and over again as you call out your love for him.

He comes hard, throwing his head back as he gasps your name, his cock jerking inside you as you grip it with your pussy, wanting every last bit of him. He lowers his head to yours, closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against you. I love you you whisper, and his mouth twitches, smiles. He opens it to speak but you lay a finger over his lips, shake your head.

You don’t need to say it you tell him, your mind drifting back to the night you fucked in Steve’s pool, the expression on his face when you’d opened your eyes. I already know you whisper.


	17. I Wanna Make It, I Wanna Make It Wit Chu

It feels like everything changed at that point. Things with Billy aren’t some kind of confusing open-yet-secret relationship anymore, you’re his now and he’s yours, and you both make sure the other knows it. Him because he needs to stake his claim on you, make sure everyone around you knows that you’re his, knows you’re his girl, needs to satisfy that possessive streak in him.

It doesn’t feel suffocating like it did with Steve, stifling like the summer heat. Steve would parade you around like some sort of bimbo trophy wife, only looking to boost his own status with you, impress other people.

Billy doesn’t give a fuck what other people think. He wants you for himself, wants other people to know you belong to him because he’d kill anyone who touches you. He makes you feel wanted, desired, sexy and powerful.

You feel it in the casual way he drapes his arm over your shoulder as you walk together, the way he slips his arm around your waist or tucks his hand into your back pocket when you stand next to him. When he pulls you into his lap when everyone’s sitting around at the lake or Tommy’s or wherever else there’s a gathering, the way he dances with you at Tina’s birthday party, his hands roaming your body as you sway and grind against him to the music, your arms locked around his neck as he watches you slide your body against his, his pupils blown with lust. It all makes you feel fucking incredible.

And you. You make sure he knows it because you know he needs it, needs to feel loved and wanted and know you’re his and his alone. It’s not a chore, not when you want him as much as you do. You do it without thinking, your hand on his thigh when he’s driving, or on the back of his neck, your nails dragging over his skin and fingers tangling in his hair. The little touches when you’re in public, a hand run down his arm, a finger brushing his, a kiss pressed to his forehead when you stand to go to the bathroom if you’re out.

The pair of you sleep touching each other all night somehow, even if it’s just a foot on his leg or a hand on his chest, it’s all automatic, just a welcome byproduct of the insane levels of attraction between you.

The week after the two of you ‘go public’ your mother calls you into the kitchen one morning as you’re sneaking Billy out of the door. You can hear her on the telephone as you creep past, and then she calls your name, asks you to come here for a minute.Wait here you mouth to Billy, but before he can nod she calls again, tells you Billy may as well come too. Shit you whisper to yourself as you close your eyes, bracing yourself for a lecture as the pair of you walk into the kitchen to face the music. You wait while she finishes her call, hangs up the phone, before she turns and looks at the pair of you, the corner of her mouth twitching as though she’s trying to suppress a laugh. She tells you she’d appreciate it if Billy could just use the door from now on please, as his nocturnal climbs are destroying her favourite rose bush. You feel your cheeks flush and Billy looks at her sheepishly, apologises. She waves her hand at him, tells him not to worry about it, but thank you anyway, shoos you off to school. You giggle about it together in his car, your hand in his lap as he drives.

That weekend he arrives at the door with a bouquet of white roses, presents them to your mom and apologises again. She blushes as she takes them from him, tells him he shouldn’t have, brushes his cheek with her lips.

From then on, most afternoons when he drops you off he comes into the house, makes pleasant small talk with your mother, who you could swear was flirting with him. It makes you laugh, knowing she can’t resist his charms either. You tease him about it one day as you head up the stairs together, him protesting his innocence with wide eyes as you laugh and imitate your mother with an exaggerated bat of your eyelashes. You scream with surprised laughter as he grabs you the second you’re through the bedroom door, carries you over to the bed and pins you to it, reaching between your legs to palm at your core over your jeans. I’ll show you there’s only one woman for me he says seductively, and you roll your head back and groan as he nips at your throat and jaw as his fingers unbutton and unzip your pants and his hand slips into your underwear.

Always so wet for me he growls, and you moan in reply, flexing your hips to try to rub against his hand as he slips two fingers straight into you easily.

His hand releases your wrists, slipping down your body to push your t shirt up. He palms your breast over your bra, traps your nipple between his thumb and the base of his index finger and squeezes softly, it hardening almost instantly. He pulls his head back and watches you as you writhe beneath him, tells you you’re beautiful. That’s something else that’s changed, the way he talks to you when you fuck, the way he whispers sweet nothings in your ear. He’s always been vocal, always moaned and often said your name, tells you harder and faster and that he’s coming, but now he talks to you too, tells you you feel so good, you’re so beautiful, that you’re all his, only his, that he loves the way you taste and feel. You can’t get enough of it, that gravel rough voice saying honey sweet things while he fucks you hard and fast. So contradictory, but so right somehow, just like Billy himself.

His fingers pull down the lace of your bra and he dips his head to suck your nipple into his mouth, tugging at it softly with his teeth as his fingers work inside you. More Billy, please you moan, and he looks up at you. Want more of you you tell him, and he grins, releases your nipple from his mouth. His fingers slow inside you and slip from you as his other hand pulls your jeans and panties down, you wriggling out of them and kicking them off your legs. You let your legs fall open around him and then he’s back on top of you, his fingers straight back to your pussy and he slides three of them over your sopping wet folds, slipping between them and sliding over your clit as you shudder and moan.

You think you can take them baby he mumbles, his lips brushing your ear, and you pant a breathless maybe. I want to you breathe, and he groans against your temple, tells you he wants to watch. Let me watch he whispers, and you nod, eyes closed as you focus on the sensation of his fingers over your clit.

He sits back between your legs, lifts them and puts them over his, your feet on his hips and your knees bent outwards so he can watch as he reaches for you, spreads you open with his thumbs. You feel your own wetness trickle out of you, run down over your ass and pool beneath you on the bed. Billy groans again, biting his lip, his eyes never leaving you as his fingers trail upward, gathering your slick and coating them as he starts to push them into you.

You moan as he fills you slowly, relishing the slight burning sensation as his thick fingers stretch you around them. His voice is a hoarse whisper as he tells you you look so fucking good with his fingers in your cunt and you giggle at the coarseness of his words contrasting with the loving way he says them.

You reach a hand down to his, whisper don’t stop as you run your fingers over the spot where he ends and you begin, making them slippery before you roll them over your clit in lazy circles. Just as you begin to think you don’t know how much more you can take he pulls backwards slowly, making your pussy ache with emptiness as he withdraws from you. You whine and Billy smirks as he slides them back into you, your whine becoming a cry, your eyes rolling back as your fingers move faster on yourself.

He fucks you just like that with his fingers, pulling them out of you slowly and sliding them back into you, the whole while watching as you touch yourself, telling you how hot this is, watching you take them over and over again. Tell me how it feels he breathes, pushing into you a little deeper, and you call out his name. Feels so fucking good you pant, so full, don’t want you to stop. I’m not stopping baby he tells you, and his hand moves a little faster now, his fingers slipping in and out of you easily now he’s worked them in you for a while.

He tells you he wants you to come for him, wants you to just let go and come all over his hand and you moan yessssss as you push yourself down onto him harder, tell him to fuck you hard and fast. He shifts to his knees, pins you to the mattress by your hip, his fingers never leaving you, and then he’s fucking you so hard with his hand you think you might scream, pounding into you over and over again as you call out his name while your fingers move furiously over your clit.

Heat builds from your chest and swallows your upper body whole as you come harder than you’ve ever come before, vaguely aware of a spreading wetness between your legs, of Billy moaning your name, of his fingers slowing and stopping. You open your eyes as he slips his fingers from you and look at him, his chest heaving and his mouth open, breathing heavily.

Fuck, baby he whispers, shaking his head and laughing. He tells you you just made him blow his load in his pants, that he hasn’t done that since he was about fucking twelve and found a Penthouse magazine in Neil’s beside table. You laugh breathlessly, your limbs feeling heavy and soft, and you reach for him, wanting to pull him down to you. He leans in and plants a lingering kiss on your lips, but then stands and tells you he’s gotta go clean himself up, tells you he’ll bring you a washcloth back, that you came so hard you’ve soaked yourself and the bed.

When he comes back he sits next to you, cleans up your thighs and between your legs softly, tenderly, running the cool washcloth over your sensitive skin, and when he’s done he tosses it to the floor and lays next to you, pulls you into his chest.

Thank you you whisper, and he plants a kiss on the top of your head as his fingers trail up and down your spine. Gotta take care of my girl he mumbles, and you nuzzle into his chest, a blissful smile on your face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote an alternative ending to this fic last night, and I’m intrigued to know how people want this to end. Happy ending for Billy, or not? I’ll probably post both, but I’d be interested to know what people would prefer for the ‘real’ ending. Let me know in the comments, and thank you as always for reading, for commenting, and for your kudos. It’s appreciated more than you could know.


	18. You Said I Love You Babe, Without A Sound, I Said I’d Give My Life For Just One Kiss

That Saturday you spend the day at Lover’s Lake together. You arrive mid-morning in Billy’s car, and in spite of the good weather there’s only one other couple there and a handful of kids. You swim in the lake together, Billy chasing you into the water as you laugh and scream at him. The pair of you swim out to the floating raft in the middle of the lake, racing against each other, Billy just beating you. You lay there beside each other on it, soaking up the sun, hand in hand.

You swim back when Billy announces that he’s hungry, lay out a blanket on the sand and put out the picnic your mom helped you put together that morning, and then later that evening, once everyone else has left and the night begins todraw in, bringing the chill with it, you strip your swim suit off and get dressed while Billy fetches a blanket from his trunk. The two of you lay under it side by side, watching the stars and smoking a joint together, laughing as you point out shapes in the stars. When you turn to look at Billy you tell him his eyes are like stars too, so bright and so beautiful, and he looks at you for the longest moment before he speaks. I love you he says, his voice warm and soft, barely more than a whisper. You cup his jaw in your hands, press your forehead to his, tell him you love him too as happy tears well in your eyes.

He pulls you into his body, holds you close as he kisses you, before he makes love to you there on the sand, his arms wrapped around you as you move together, calling out each other’s names under the stars in the night sky, and he whispers that he loves you over and over.

When he parks up in to the driveway outside your house, you’re fast asleep in the passenger seat, your head resting on the door, knees tucked into your chest, your bare toes resting against his thigh, so he carries you into the house in his arms bridal style, your arms slung around his neck, your face buried in his chest. He slips into bed beside you after he undresses you and then himself, rolls into your back, presses a soft kiss to your shoulder as he listens to your steady breathing. I love you so fucking much he whispers, and you sigh softly in your sleep.

———

On Monday night he doesn’t come. You lay awake in bed for hours, watching the clock as the minutes tick by. Sleep eludes you.

Just before one a.m you decide to drive by his house. You’re not sure why, just a need to be close to where he is maybe, or a gut instinct that something’s not quite right. You don’t even bother to get dressed, driving there in your sleep shorts and Billy’s ratty old Iron Maiden shirt, left at yours one day. It smells of him, and it comforts you.

You slow right down as you pull into Cherry Lane, and you can see a light on at his from the top of the street. You roll down your window as you approach, crawling past the house at snails pace. You hear a shout over the noise of your engine, a crash of something breaking, and then the light snaps out.

Your heart is pounding against your ribcage, and your mouth feels dry. Somehow you just know what’s going on in there, know that Billy’s father is taking his anger out on him again, and it makes you feel utterly helpless and indescribably angry at the same time.

You desperately want to go to him, to see him and hold him and tell him you love him, but you daren’t, knowing that things will be ten times worse for him if the two of you are caught.

You pull up at the end of the street, Billy’s house still visible in your mirrors as you switch the engine off. You rummage in the glove box for a scrap of paper to write on, find an old receipt for gas. You scrawl a note with an eyeliner from your door pocket, saying you drove by and you heard what happened, that you don’t want to cause more trouble but you want him to know you came. You write I LOVE YOU at the bottom, underline it twice.

Your heart is hammering as you walk down the road toward the Hargrove house, listening out for any noise from within, but there’s nothing. You creep across the grass at the side of the house, pause under the window that you know is Billy’s bedroom, listening again. Silence.

You stand on one of the rocks in the flowerbed under his bedroom window, one that makes you just tall enough that you can reach the bottom of the window with an inch or so to spare. You push it up so, so slowly, listening out for any hint of a noise, the smallest rustle of a leaf, and when you’re certain you’re still alone you take the scribbled note and push it through the tiny gap before you let the window down slowly. You run back up the street to your car, your heart pounding as you climb in and drive away.

———

He doesn’t pick you up in the morning, and your anxiety kicks into overdrive. Not once in the time that you’ve been together, even before that, when you were in that bizarre no-man’s land between whatever you were then and what you are now, has he failed to show up to pick you up for school. You drive yourself there, and your stomach lurches when you realise you can’t see his car in it’s usual spot. You do another lap of the parking lot, just in case you missed it, but it’s definitely not there. You walk into school feeling defeated.

You’re sat in Math when the door opens and he walks in. You hadn’t looked up at first, not until you hear his voice, rougher than usual, and your head snaps up. Immediately your hands go to your mouth in shock.

His face is a mess. His left eye is swollen shut, a huge purple bruise surrounding it. The old gash above his eyebrow that you once cleaned up so tenderly and carefully has reopened, and it’s been clumsily closed up with steri-strips. His lip is split open and swollen, and when he turns to you you can see a band of bruising around his throat. Tears fill your eyes, and when he turns his head a little and sees you he tries to smile, winces as his swollen lip pulls tight. He’s directed to an empty seat at the front of class, and you blink back tears, desperate to speak to him.

The second the bell rings you leap from your seat and go to him, ask him what the hell happened last night. He pulls you from the classroom by your sleeve, out into the hallway, steers you into the empty chem lab.

He tells you he got your note last night, that he’s so, so sorry he couldn’t come over, that he didn’t pick you up this morning, didn’t even call. He grits his teeth as he tells you that Neil’s taken his car keys and wouldn’t let him use the phone, punishing him for not coming home on Sunday night without letting him or Susan know, for not taking Max to school Monday morning.

Did he do this you ask, your voice thick with tears as you reach out to touch his face, pulling back at the last second so you don’t hurt him. He nods slowly, and you step forward, cup his face in your hands and press a kiss to his forehead as he slips his hands around your waist, closes his eyes. I’ve gotta get out of there he tells you in a hoarse whisper, tells you that he needs to get away from that house and from Neil before he does something he can’t take back. He tells you that after Neil went to sleep last night, he went to the kitchen and took a knife from the drawer, stood outside the door of the bedroom Neil shares with Susan and contemplated going in there and stabbing him straight through the fucking chest. He tells you the only thing that stopped him was Max, coming out of her room to use the bathroom, asking him why he was standing around in the dark like a creep as he hid the knife behind his back.

We’ll get you out of there you tell him, you can come stay with me, my mom won’t mind, we’ll speak to her tonight, and then the lab door opens and Steve pokes his head through it, calls your name.

Billy turns to see who it is and Steve’s mouth falls open in shock. Holy shit he says, what happened to your face? Billy tells him to fuck off, and Steve laughs sarcastically. Is he always this pleasant he asks you, and Billy stands up, his fists clenching. I said fuck off Harrington he says, and you can see his good eye flash with anger. Billy you say quietly, putting your hand on his arm, but he shrugs you off. Steve scoffs, asks Billy what exactly he’s gonna do about it. Look at the state of you he says, pointing to Billy’s face, a smug grin on his lips. Do you really wanna come off worse in two fights in two days he asks, and Billy loses it.

He charges at Steve as you scream his name, throws himself at him and as they barrel through the door together out into the hallway students scatter, shouting and gasping. You run after them, screaming Billy’s name, telling him to stop it, just leave it, it’s not worth it Billy, please stop, but he can’t hear you through his rage as they roll around in the corridor together, Steve pushing at Billy’s face with his hands and Billy throwing punches wildly. Mr Kaminsky comes running down the hallway, shouting for people to get back, and as he approaches the two of them he grabs Billy’s arm and tries to pull him off Steve. Billy doesn’t even look at him, just turns around and pushes him blindly, shoving him into the row of lockers with a crash and knocking him off his feet. It’s over instantly, Steve staring at Kaminsky from where he’s laying on his back on the floor, the neck of his shirt ripped open, Billy standing there, chest heaving, fresh blood running from his forehead and his lip, stunned students standing around in silence.

Kaminsky struggles to his feet, straightens his shirt and brushes it off, smoothing his hair down before he turns to Billy, eyes ablaze. You he says, pointing at him, finger shaking. Get to the principal’s office he says, before he turns to Steve. He tells him to get up off of the floor and clean himself up, find a decent shirt and then go and wait for him outside the teacher’s lounge. Everyone else, get to class he shouts, and students begin to mutter to themselves as they shuffle off to their respective lessons.

Wait you say, stepping forward, and Kaminsky turns to you. I said get to class he tells you, but you ignore him, ask him why he’s sending Billy to the principal and not Steve. Because that delinquent just assaulted a member of the faculty he says, and rage boils over inside you.

He’s not a delinquent you say, your voice raised. Steve started this, baited him, he should be the one going to the principal’s office you tell him, and Kaminsky steps toward you, stopping right in front of you. Do you want to join him he asks, and you can feel tears of frustration welling in your eyes. But look at his face you whisper, and you can see Billy shaking his head behind him, pleading with you with his eyes not to say anymore, but you do anyway. His father did that to him you tell him, his father beat the shit out of him for no good reason and now you’re gonna send him home to him for round two. Kaminsky’s expression softens slightly, but he shakes his head, tells you that that has no bearing on what just happened. Please you say, tears falling now as Billy hangs his head and Steve looks on, crestfallen.

Get to class Kaminsky tells you, his voice low and sympathetic, but you walk past him defiantly, take Billy’s face in your hands and lift it to look at you. You tell him that you’re gonna sort this out, that you’ll go home now and call your mom, explain what’s happened and tell her that he needs to come and stay with you, you’ll get him away from that house, you promise, but he’s shaking his head. Doesn’t matter now he tells you, and he looks so utterly defeated that it breaks your heart. This was my last strike he tells you, his voice matter-of-fact. He tells you that he was warned that if he ended up in the principal’s office again that he’d be permanently excluded. His voice sounds choked as he tells you that Neil made it very clear that if there were any further issues at school that he’d be sending him to the Georgia MilitaryCollege. So I can become a fine, upstanding citizen he spits with venomous sarcasm. No you say, taking his hand, I wont let him do that, but Billy takes both your hands in his, holds them out in front of him. He doesn’t look at you as he tells you that its too late now, neither of you can do anything about it, that you just have to accept it. I’ll try to call you later he tells you, before turning and following Kaminsky down the hallway, his shoulders slumped.

A hand touches your shoulder, and you turn to see Steve stood there looking shell-shocked. I had no idea he says, shaking his head, tells you he would never have said the things he did if he’d known, but you cut him off as you wipe the tears from your face defiantly. You tell him that this is all his fault, that if Billy gets sent away to military school you’ll never forgive him, that you’ll hate him forever, before you walk away from him, boots clicking down the empty corridor as he watches you go.


	19. I Know That You’d Be Here Right Now, If I Could Have Let You Know Somehow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeee, this is it, the penultimate chapter. It’s crazy to think that I started this fic as a smutty one shot, and that it’s developed into a smutty much longer fic ha ha.  
> This chapter is very angsty. I know that some people won’t like it, but I don’t make the story up I’m afraid, I just put it down on paper as it forms in my head. You’ll have to blame the muses for that I’m afraid.  
> I have written an alternative ending to this fic, two in fact, and I will post them as an epilogue, but this is the ‘real’ ending, the way it’s meant to be. I hope you all enjoy it.

He doesn’t call that night, doesn’t come over, and you spend the night curled up in your mom’s bed with her like you used to as a child. You finally cry yourself to sleep in the early hours of the morning, but when the sun comes up you wake almost instantly. You tell your mom that you don’t think you can face school today, and she just nods, tells you that she’ll be home in time for dinner. Want me to pick up a pizza she asks softly, and you nod numbly. The thought of eating makes you want to throw up.

The morning passes in a blur of black coffee and trashy daytime soap operas, before you finally lose patience with pacing the lounge at lunchtime and jump in your car. You drive over to Cherry Lane, pulling up outside of Billy’s house and cutting the engine. There’s no car in the driveway, which strikes you as odd given that Billy has almost certainly been excluded from school, and you cant imagine Neil letting him go off anywhere.

You can’t shake the horrible sickly feeling in your stomach that something is wrong as you walk up the footpath to the house, fear feeling like a rock in the pit of your stomach as heavy as lead. You knock on the door, listening for noise inside, any noise at all, but there’s nothing. You knock again, louder this time, but somehow you just know that there’s nobody at home.

You hear a voice ask if they can help you, and you turn to see a woman eyeing you from where she stands outside the house next door. You tell her you’re looking for Billy, that you’re his girlfriend, that he was sent home from school yesterday unwell, and you’ve come to check if he’s alright.

She raises an eyebrow as she regards you suspiciously, before she tells you that the Hargroves are gone, left this morning. Gone you repeat, your voice little more than a whisper. Uh huh she tells you, nodding. Heard a bit of a to-do last night she says, then this morning they were packing up the cars. Said they were heading back to California she tells you, something about a family emergency, said they’d send a removal firm for the furniture later that week.

Oh you say numbly, your head spinning. Thank you you tell her, as you walk across the grass and back toward your car. On the fifth step your knees buckle, and you fall to the grass breathlessly, your chest making a strangled whooshing sound as you desperately try to pull some air into your lungs, your hand pressed to your breaking heart. You’re not sure how long you sit there on that grass, crying and hurting, but by the time you feel like you might be able to stand up and drive yourself home the shadows are getting longer and the sun is dipping below the houses over the road.

When you pull up in the driveway at home Steve’s car is parked outside, and despite the fact that you were certain you’d cried yourself dry outside Billy’s house, you find tears of anger welling in your eyes.

You throw the front door open, practically run to the kitchen where you can hear your mother’s voice talking to someone quietly, and sure enough he’s sat there on a stool at the counter, listening to whatever she’s saying.

You bastard you whisper, and he turns around, stands up as you rush towards him, fury fuelling you. You bastard you scream at him as you grab him, fists pounding against his chest, pushing him backwards until he stumbles and knocks the stool over. You scream at him that Billy is gone, that Neil has taken them all back to California and that you have no idea where they’ve gone and that you’ll never see him again. He grabs your upper arms as you claw at him, screams of rage turning into howls of pain as you collapse against him, sobbing into his chest, saying he’s gone, Billy’s gone, over and over again.

He folds his arms around you and just stands there holding you, letting you cry yourself out against him as your mother watches in shocked silence. When your sobs finally quiet into sniffles she puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder, tells him that she thinks it’s probably for the best if you just go to bed and try to get some sleep, that she’ll take you up. It’s okay he says quietly, rubbing your back in soothing circles as your chest hitches, I’ll take her, sit with her for a while.

He manages to steer you out of the kitchen and up the stairs, through your bedroom door. He sits you on the edge of the bed, tells you he’ll wait outside while you get changed, but you don’t release your grip on him, just sit in numb silence staring into the carpet. He sighs as he drops to his knees in front of you, tells you to stand up, which you do, still clinging to the shoulder of his shirt. He looks away as he pops the button of your pants open and pulls them down, strips them off your legs, lifting your feet one at a time, pulling your socks off too. Wanna take this off he asks, pointing at your shirt, and you shake your head frantically. No you tell him in a hoarse whisper, fresh tears welling in your eyes. This is Billy’s you tell him, your fingers toying with the worn and faded fabric of the Iron Maiden t-shirt that still carries his smell. Ok he says softly, nodding, and he steers you toward the top of the bed, tells you to lay down and pulls the comforter up over you.

He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans, pulls out a photograph as he clears his throat. I only came over to see how you are, and to give you this he says, his fingers running over the corner of it and back again. He tells you that Jonathan Byers took it at Tina’s birthday party, that he gave it to Steve today when he saw him, after they found out that Billy had been excluded. He thought you might want it Steve says, his voice wavering as he holds it out to you. You reach out and take it from him, and when you bring it down to your face to look at it a fresh blade of pain slices straight through your heart.

It’s you and Billy, standing together at Tina’s party, a picture of happiness. Your fingers are laced together around the back of his neck, arms outstretched as you lean backwards, your head thrown back in laughter, eyes sparkling. Billy’s arm is snaked around your waist, his hand pressing you to him from the hips down, a beer in the other one, and he’s looking at you and grinning, a look of complete and utter adoration on his face as his grey-blue eyes gaze at you, so full of love, the two of you completely lost in each other in that moment. A strangled sob escapes your throat and Steve sits down next to you on the bed, pulls you into him as he strokes your hair and makes soft shushing noises.

You fall asleep that way, clutching that photograph in your hand, the scent of Billy’s shirt surrounding you as Steve holds you close, and you dream of Billy.

** TWO YEARS AND FOUR MONTHS LATER. **

You pull up in the driveway after your shift at the jewellery store, completely exhausted. On the plus side, you had an excellent sales day today, so your commission should be through the roof at the end of the month. There’s a car you don’t recognise parked outside the house, a blue convertible. Probably another new guy your mom is dating you think with a sigh. Great. You’re too tired for the inevitable introductions right now.

You can hear her talking in the kitchen as you come through the door, laughing at something. You roll your eyes, shout to let her know you’re home. Your mom calls you, tells you to come into the kitchen, that there’s someone who wants to see you. Your shoulders slump. Get it done, over with, bath. That’s what you focus on as you walk through the kitchen door, how amazing that hot bath is gonna feel when you’ve been standing up all day, but then the guy sat on the stool in front of your mother turns around and your heart stops dead for a few seconds, before it resumes its beat at double speed. Your knees threaten to buckle and your eyes fill with tears as they meet his pools of grey-blue.

Billy.

Your voice is barely a whisper when you speak, ask him what he’s doing here. You’re so focussed on him that you hardly register your mom slipping out of the room, telling you she’ll leave the pair of you to it.

He’s beautiful. He always has been, but he’s clearly been living somewhere hot, sunny, because his skin is deep golden, his sleeves rolled up to show his tan, his shirt unbuttoned as it always was. His hair is blonder, but it still falls in those soft curls, and you have to physically stop yourself from reaching out to touch it.

Hey he says, and his voice sounds like gravel soaked in honey, smooth and sweet but also rough somehow. A single tear escapes, rolls down your cheek, and you swipe it away defiantly. You won’t show any sign of weakness to him. Not after the way he left, the way he abandoned you, left you behind. Anger rises in you at the thought of it. You ask him what he’s doing here again, your voice steely this time, cold. He stands up, walks over to you, tries to take your hand but you keep it firmly by your side, fist clenched.

He tells you that he wants to explain, to tell you why he disappeared, why he never called. You snap at him, tell him you don’t want to hear it, it’s been two years, two years Billy you hear yourself shout, and he just looks at you, sadness etched on his face. He tells you he knows that, and he’s sorry, that he never intended for any of this to happen, that Neil imploded when he found out that Billy had been permanently excluded, dragged the entire family back to California practically overnight, kept Billy pretty much locked in at home when he wasn’t at school, took away his car, wouldn’t let him use the phone. He tells you that he wanted to call you so many times, that on a handful of occasions he’d managed to get to a phone and dialled your number, but that it rang out every time. He tells you that Neil didn’t follow through on his threat of military school, but that he had to repeat his senior year, and finally, finally, he managed to get a job that paid enough money that he could move out once and for all, get away from Neil, and that he’s come back to tell you all this, to ask you to forgive him, to ask you to pick up where the pair of you left off.

You’re stunned into silence. He reaches for your hand again, and this time you’re helpless to resist, your mind whirring and overloaded. He knows it a lot to ask he tells you, he knows it’s been a long time, but he wants you. It’s you he says, it’s always been you. He starts to say something else but he cuts himself off suddenly when he lifts your hand, catches sight of the ring on your finger. He looks from the ring to your face, and when he speaks your heart could break. He sounds devastated. You met someone else he says, pain evident in his voice. You’re getting married, a question this time, and you nod, just once. When he asks, and you can’t look at his face as you answer him. Saturday you whisper, and he lets go of your hand. Wow he says softly, a real whirlwind romance huh. You shake your head, try to explain, but he just carries on. You must only have known the guy five minutes he says, you can’t love him, not the way you love me. The tears fall easily now, cascading down your cheeks, bitter and hot. What’s his name he asks, and you close your eyes, press your lips together. He repeats the question, his voice a little lower, that subtle edge of danger to it that you know so well, that used to make you shiver with anticipation as heat pooled between your legs, and you open your eyes and look at him as you answer. Your voice cracks on the last syllable as you tell him you’re marrying Steve. His face falls. Steve he repeats questioningly, disbelieving. Steve Harrington he asks, Steve fucking Harrington? He’s shouting now, and you cringe at his raised voice. You always hated it when he lost control, when anyone does. Reminds you of your parents arguing when you were a kid, reminds you of that final scuffle in the hallway at school where your life as you knew it fell apart. He’s pacing the kitchen, his hand brushing back his hair, looking like he wants to punch something.

He stops in front of you, thinks for a moment. Don’t do it he says, don’t marry him. Billy you say, trying to make him see reason, but he cuts you off. Don’t marry him he says, and there’s an edge of desperation in his voice. Don’t, please. Just don’t marry him. When you look at him his eyes are glassy, tear filled. I can’t do that you whisper, and his shoulders slump. Please he says, his voice a croak. You reach out to him, desperate to comfort him, to stop him from hurting the way you hurt when he left. You remember that pain like it was yesterday, the way your chest and stomach physically hurt when you thought of him, when you pictured him laughing that day at the lake, the way his hair shone in the sunlight and his eyes sparkled like the water. Every time you closed your eyes for weeks you were back there on that blanket in the grass, warm in Billy’s embrace, you could almost feel the way his lips had brushed yours as he’d whispered to you, told you he loved you. You’d cried yourself to sleep so many nights, every night just laying there in his unwashed shirt, hugging yourself with your arms, trying to hold your broken pieces together for long enough that they’d stick.

You take his hand, say his name again, your tone begging him to look at you. When he does his expression is pure heartbreak. You can’t take it. You pull him into your arms, hold him to you, tell him you’re sorry, you’re so, so sorry, and then his lips are on yours, salty from his tears and you’re kissing him back, letting his tongue into your mouth to caress yours. You cling to each other like you’re drowning, kissing like your lives depend on it, hungry and desperate and savage, and then he’s picking you up, lifting you like you weigh no more than a bag of sugar. He sweeps out of the kitchen with you, his mouth still on yours, carries you effortlessly out into the hallway and up the stairs, pushes your bedroom door open with his elbow and deposits you on the bed. He strips his jacket off and toes off his boots as you lay there, dazed and breathless, and then he’s on you again, devouring you as he pulls at your clothes. You’re doing the same, tearing at his like a woman possessed. You hear a button give way as it’s ripped off his shirt, you unzip his pants and you’re pushing them down his legs frantically. You’ve never wanted him so much. He’s pulled your blouse open, is laying sloppy kisses against your chest as he pulls your bra down, takes your nipple into his mouth. He sucks and bites at it as he lifts you enough to unzip your skirt, before his mouth leaves you so he can pull it off with your pantyhose and underwear. They’re barely round your knees before he’s on top of you again, pressing himself into you and then he’s filling you in one fluid motion. You cry out as he shudders and moans on top of you. I love you he breathes, I love you so much, and then he’s thrusting into you, over and over. You’re coming by the fourth stroke, an orgasm so intense it makes you feel dizzy and nauseous, and the whole time Billy’s chanting against your neck, telling you he loves you, he’s sorry, he needs you, he wants you, he loves you. He calls it out as he comes, his hips stuttering before stopping, his arms wrapped around you. I love you he whispers, and the tears prickle at your eyes. I need some time to think you tell him, your voice a breathless sigh, and he lifts himself off you, pulls up his pants. He sits down on the edge of the bed, stares at his hands as you pull your clothes back into place, straighten yourself up. When you’ve finished you sit next to him, slip your hand into his. They still fit together perfectly, fingers entwined. He sighs. I’m staying at the motel out by the mall he tells you. Says he’ll be there until Monday, and then he’s heading back to California. Come with me he says, squeezing your hand. Billy you say, but he holds up a hand, stops you. Tells you he knows you want some time to think, and that’s fine. He can give you that. But he wants you to know that he wants you to leave with him, go back with him. Just, think about it he says, before he stands up, buttons his shirt and tucks it in. He runs a hand through his hair. I love you he says, looking at the floor. He picks up his jacket and slips it on, picks up his boots on his way to the door. He pauses in the doorway. Room 115 he says, quietly. I’ll be there til Monday.


	20. I Can Tell You My Love For You Will Still Be Strong, After The Boys Of Summer Have Gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, the final chapter.  
> I just want to thank every single person who has read this fic, every one who has left kudos or a comment, every one who has subscribed or bookmarked it. I never imagined in my wildest dreams that this would hit 3000 reads, let alone surpass it, and I’m truly thankful to every one of you. You have no idea how much it means to this aspiring writer.  
> At some point over the next few days I’m going to go back and re-edit the early chapter of this to break it up into paragraphs and make it easier to read. I switched writing apps part way through and they format it differently, so I’ll get onto that ASAP.  
> As I said before, I have written two alternative endings to this story, and I will post them both as an epilogue, probably later this week.  
> One last time, thank you again.  
> I hope you’ve enjoyed reading this as much as I’ve loved writing it 🖤🖤🖤

You can’t do it. Somehow it’s the night before your wedding, and you’re sat in Steve’s apartment, eating dinner with him, spending your last evening together before you get married and move in with him. Except you told yourself earlier that you were going to tell him you couldn’t go through with it, but now you’re sat here you can’t. Your tongue feels like lead, your mouth dry. You’re pushing your food around your plate, not even pretending to pick at it anymore. You sip at your wine and it tastes sour in your mouth, your stomach doing a lazy back flip. You clear your throat but the words are gone, dissolved in your mouth. Steve speaks instead.

He’s heard Billy Hargrove is back in town. Panic kicks in. You stay silent. I heard he’s staying at the motel he says, eyeing you. You say nothing. He asks if you’ve heard anything, if you’ve seen him around. You try to speak but your voice is just a squeak, a croak. You clear your throat again. You tell him he dropped by your house to say hello a few days ago. Your mom was there you tell him, she let him in, you were at work. Steve’s eyes narrow. But you saw him he asks, and you nod. Briefly you say. He asks you what he wanted. Just to say hi you repeat. He doesn’t say anything else. He looks relieved. You feel a tinge of guilt.

You kiss him goodnight at the door. This time tomorrow you’ll be Mrs Harrington he tells you, and you force a smile. You don’t know how it got to this point. After Billy left Steve surprised you, stepped up and supported you, helped you through it. Something grew from it, some tiny spark that rekindled your relationship with him months down the line. It wasn’t the same, of course it wasn’t, but it was easy, you didn’t have to think about it, and somehow it was different from the first time around, better. You went with the flow, just let it happen, and then suddenly he was proposing, and you found yourself saying yes. So what if you weren’t in love with him? You loved him in a way. Maybe it would grow from that. Maybe you could be happy together.

And then Billy had come back and everything had gone to shit.

You’re meant to be driving home, but you find yourself on the way out of town, driving out toward the mall. You have no idea how you got here. You’re pulling into the motel parking lot, and the next thing you know you’re knocking on the door of 115. Billy opens it.

He’s breathtaking. No matter how many times you’ve opened the door to him and vice versa, you’ll never not be stunned by how beautiful he is.

He looks pissed off when he answers the door, but when he sees it’s you his expression softens. He steps aside to let you in. You stand there awkwardly, television flickering silently behind you as he sits on the bed, waits for you to speak. You can’t look at him, your hands clenched together, your fingers twisting and writhing as you watch them. Anything so you don’t have to look at his face as you stamp on his heart.

You didn’t do it he says, and his tone is softer than you expect. It catches you off guard and you look up at him. See the sadness in his eyes, the hurt etched on his face. You walk towards him and sit next to him on the bed. You can’t help it. You can’t stand to see him that way.

You take his hand, entwine your fingers with his. I’m sorry you whisper, and a tear falls onto your joined hands from your eyes. I tried you say. You try to explain that after he left Steve was there for you when you fell apart, that he genuinely changed, that when you’d cheated with Billy he’d really regretted the way things were with you. He’s a good guy you say, and you mean it. Billy’s silent for a minute. You don’t love him though he says quietly. You pause. You tell him you do love him, you care for him a lot. But you’re not in love with him Billy says, and you know you can’t argue with that. Maybe it’ll come with time you whisper. He shakes his head. Tells you you’ll never love Steve the way you love him. You don’t know that you say, lifting your head to look at him, a tinge of anger in your voice. How dare he, when he’s the one who left you. I do know it he says, his voice soft. Because if you ever loved Steve the way you love me he continues, if you ever could, you wouldn’t be here, with me, the night before your wedding. He tells you that what you had, what you still have together, is the kind of love that lasts a lifetime, never fades, never dies. Always there with you he says softly.

He lets go of your hand to lean across the bed behind him, to take his wallet from the bedside table. He flips it open, pulls a creased and dirty slip of paper from it, tosses the wallet onto the bed. He sits there for a moment, regarding that scrap of paper, before he unfolds it, holds it out to you. Your breath catches in your throat as you take it from him. It’s the note you wrote on the gas receipt you found in your car more than two years ago, the night you went to Billy’s house when he didn’t show at yours. Can’t really read it anymore he says, his voice gruff, and when you look up you’re surprised to see his eyes full of tears, to see one escape and run down over his cheekbone. He tells you that two years of unfolding it and reading it every day, sometimes twice a day, have left most of the words little more than black smudges. You look down and see he’s right, that the words are now unintelligible for the most part, aside from an odd letter here and there. Not the bottom line though. Not that fierce I LOVE YOU, double underlined. The U is a little blurred, the bottom of the L a smudged line, but at some point in the last two years Billy has stuck a length of sticky tape over that last line, preserving it perfectly. You smile tearfully as you run your fingers over it. You hand it back to him as you stand, take a step over to the table by the door that you’d put your purse down on when you entered the room. You take your diary out, and slip a photograph out from between the pages. He’s looking at you curiously as you sit back on the bed, and you hold it out to him. It’s the photograph of the two of you at Tina’s birthday party, the photograph that you’ve been carrying around since the day Steve gave it to you at your house. Billy takes it from you, studies it and smiles. When was this he asks, running his fingertips over the two of you, frozen in time together in a perfect moment. You tell him that it was taken at Tina’s the month before he left, that Jonathan Byers took it. He nods, tells you he remembers now, remembers kissing you after it was taken. You carry this around with you he asks, and you nod, a lump forming in your throat. Haven’t left home without it in two years you whisper.

The next thing you know his lips are on yours, kissing you with a passion and fervour you haven’t felt since before he left. You moan into his mouth and he slips his tongue over yours as he buries his fingers in your hair. Your hands move to his vest, pull it from his jeans where its tucked in, and he breaks your kiss to let you pull it up and over his head. No sooner is it off than his lips are back on yours, and this time he’s pulling you to him, leaning back into the bed and pulling you on top of him. He strips your shirt up and off your body in the same way as you did his, except when he pulls it off you sit back on your heels and just look at him for a moment, chest heaving. Your eyes never leave his as you reach behind you and unhook your bra, slip the straps down your arms and discard it over the edge of the bed. He unbuckles his belt as you unbutton your pants, both of you unzipping at the same time, pushing them down and pulling your legs out of them, you underwear going with yours. You sit there, the pair of you stark naked, just gazing at each other for a moment before Billy speaks. I love you he says, and you lean into him, graze his lips with yours. I love you too you whisper, and this time when you kiss him you sink into the bed together, hands running over every inch of each other’s body, mapping out all those places you both know so well. His fingers trace over your spine the way they did so many nights when you lay together in the darkness, your hands cupping his jaw as he rolls the pair of you until he’s laying over you, between your legs, resting on his forearms, his palms cupping your head. He watches you as he shifts his hips and slides into you, watches the way your eyelids flutter and your mouth forms a perfect ‘o’, the tiny noise you let out as he bottoms out in you. I love you he whispers again as he begins to move in you, sliding in and out of you as you moan and gasp and call his name. You can feel the friction building between your legs, feel your orgasm rising in you and you tell him you’re going to come as you lift your leg, throw it over his hip. You slide your hands up behind his neck, lace your fingers together and pull him into you as you let out the most sinful moan you’ve ever heard come from your lips, his name chasing it, and he speeds up his thrusts. His movement is sloppy now, you can tell he’s close to coming, and you squeeze around him as you tell him to fill you, to come in you, please Billy, I love you, and then he’s throwing his head back as he calls out your name, cries out that he loves you too as he shudders over you, coming deep within you.

You lay that way for a while, Billy holding your as you run your fingers through his hair, trace shapes into those deeply tanned arms with a fingertip. At some point he shifts and rolls off you, immediately wraps his arms around you and pulls you into him, and you bury your face in his chest, breathing him in. His breathing slows and deepens, and you realise he’s asleep.

You waited so long for this, waited and hoped and tried to hold it all together. You wonder when that hope stopped, at what point did you give up and just accept that he wasn’t coming back, that Steve was your future? You realise that you never did, that you’ve been carrying that hope around quietly for the last two years, tucked between the pages of your diary in the form of a photograph. Billy carried his in his wallet, a scribbled note on a gas receipt.

But then Steve pops into your head. Steve handing you the photo that day on your bed, telling you that he’d come over to give it to you, one last memory to treasure. The fact that after everything you did, after how much you hurt him, he could still do that for you, could push his own feelings aside to do something to give you just a glimmer of happiness, surely that shows that he’s a good man? You feel so conflicted. So guilty.

Tomorrow you’re meant to be walking down the aisle to him, to marry him and promise to love him and be with him for the rest of your lives, but right now the thought of making those promises to anyone but Billy makes you feel physically sick, in the same way the thought of hurting Steve all over again does.

You lift Billy’s arm from around your waist as gently and slowly as you can, slip out from under it and look at his sleeping face. Long lashes kissing his cheeks, his full lips, always so soft and warm. Curls splayed out on his pillow, framing his face like a halo. He’s so beautiful it makes you want to cry.

You dress quickly and quietly, your stomach roiling and twisting as you bend to pull on your shoes, and that’s when you notice the note and the photograph on the floor, tossed from the bed in a fit of passion. Your hands shake as you pick them up, and tears well in your eyes. You cross the room to the table you put your purse on, dig through it and find a pen. You write two words on the note, over the faded black smudges there. I’m sorry. It’s all you can bring yourself to say.

You cross back to the bed and lay them on the pillow your head just left, that note and the photograph. You lift a hand and let your finger tip trace Billy’s cheek bone, one last touch. You dip your head and brush his lips with yours, so softly you can barely feel it. He stirs ever so slightly, and you straighten up, move to the door quietly.

You look back as you turn the knob and open the door, take one last look at him sleeping peacefully before you slip through it and let it click shut. It’s only as you’re crossing the parking lot toward your car that you let the tears fall, and as you drive away from the motel those tears turn into wracking sobs, your whole body shaking and hurting. You feel like your heart is breaking all over again.

———

  
You barely sleep that night. Twice you get out of bed, thinking of going back to the motel, but you don’t. The second time you get so far as pulling your pants on before you break down in tears again, sit on your bedroom floor and sob. 

In the morning, when your mom comes in to wake you, you’re already awake, laying in bed, turning the last twenty-four hours over and over in your mind.

She sits on the bed by your side, brushes your hair from your face as she takes in your red-rimmed eyes and asks you if this is about Billy. You sigh and nod, and she looks at you sympathetically. She tells that when she was younger, before she married your father, she had a summer fling with a young man in Florida, where her aunt lived near Daytona Beach. We summered there every year she tells you, a wistful smile on her face. She tells you that he worked in a garage in town, and she’d met him when her aunt had taken her car in for some work that needed doing to it. It was love at first sight she laughs, tells you that as soon as she laid eyes on him she felt her heart swell and stop in her chest. He was too shy to say anything to me there and then she tells you, but he’d worked on my aunt’s car before she says, tells you that he had her number, so he called the house that night and asked if he could speak to your mother, asked her if she’d like to go out on a date. She tells you that she accepted immediately, and that he picked her up the following day and drove them down to Sugarloaf Mountain, a few hours away. She tells you that they picnicked by Lake Apopka, and spent the entire afternoon talking about anything and everything. I was seventeen she says, never so much as kissed a boy before, and he was twenty two, older and more experienced than me, but as I sat there in that grass by the lake I knew I’d met the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. We made love right there in that grass she tells you, a smile on her lips, eyes dreamy. She reminisces about how they fell head over heels for each other, stealing as much time as they could together, making love on the beach at night and in his car. I was heartbroken when I had to come home she whispers, eyes turning glassy. She tells you that they wrote, and called, made promises to wait for each other. But I was young she says, and I met your father just a few months later. She recalls that your father was handsome, his parents wealthy, and that hers were thrilled with the prospect of their daughter marrying him, and that soon those letters and calls dried up. She tells you that by the time she returned the following summer, her last visit before she went away to college, your father had proposed and she had accepted. He waited for me all that time she says, her voice cracking slightly, and I broke his heart. He begged me not to marry your father, she says, pleaded with me to stay, said he’d marry me right then and there, but I couldn’t do it. She laughs tearfully, tells you she can’t count the number of times since your parent’s marriage fell apart that she’s sat and wished she’d done just that. She brushes your cheek with her hand, smiles at you softly. Of course then I’d never have you she says, and you smile, take her hand. Her voice is a whisper as she tells you not to make the same mistake she did, not to marry the wrong person because of some misguided sense of duty to people who won’t have to live with the consequences.

I do love Steve you tell her, your voice quiet and thoughtful. She nods, tells you she knows you do. He’s not Billy though, is he she asks, and you shake your head slowly. She leans over and kisses your forehead before she stands, tells you she’s going to make a pot of coffee before your father arrives with your grandparents. Mom you call as she slips through the doorway, and she turns back, looks at you. Did you ever see him again you ask, and she shakes her head sadly. She tells you that when the two of you went to Florida for her aunt’s funeral, when you were maybe ten or eleven, she went to that garage, asked after him. They told me that he’d been killed in a car wreck just the year before, hit by a drunk driver she says, shaking her head and looking at the carpet. They said he never married or had children, never wanted to after some young girl left him to be with someone else, years ago. She looks up, and a tear rolls down her cheek slowly, falls from her jaw as she tells you it’s not too late for you to make a different choice before she leaves.

———

Your heart hammers in your chest and your mouth dries up as you pull up outside the church, watch the people heading inside. Your father looks at you, asks you if you’re ready, and you swallows audibly before you nod. You’re not, not at all, but it’s too late to back out now. He takes your hand as you exit the car, tells you you look beautiful as he looks at you and put out his arm. You take it, your palms clammy as you shift your bouquet and walk into the church. You walk down the aisle in a trance, ignoring the murmurs and smiles from the people around you, not looking at your mother as she smiles at you sadly.

When you stop next to Steve, your father lifts your veil, kisses your cheek, tells you he’s so proud of you. You try to smile but it comes out a grimace, and your stomach flip flops in your belly.

Hey Steve whispers, and you turn a little, look at him and smile, a little better this time.

You zone out as the minister begins talking, addressing the congregation, telling them how wonderful it is to be here today to join these two young souls in love before their families. Your mind drifts to Billy, to how he’d never want a church wedding with his family, that eloping to Vegas is probably more his style, and you smirk to yourself in spite of your aching heart.

Steve’s voice drags you from your thoughts, calling you honey.

Hmmm you say, turning to him, and then you realise the church is silent, everyone waiting for you, the minister looking at you patiently.

You stammer as you ask the minister if he can repeat what he just said, and he smiles, tells you of course. He asks the two of you if you’ve come here today to enter into your marriage without coercion, freely and wholeheartedly. You both say yes, your voice a mumble drowned out by Steve. Then the minister asks if you’re prepared to love and honour one another, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live, and your stomach lurches as memories of Billy’s hands roaming your body last night fill your mind, the feel of his lips on your skin and him moving inside you.

You stand there, just looking at the minister, his face curious and concerned. I can’t you whisper, and you feel instantly lighter.

You stammer, saying you’re so sorry, but you can’t, this isn’t, you just can’t.

Steve turns to you, looks at you. His expression is soft, sad. Tears well in your eyes. He sighs.

Go on he says. Go to him. You open your mouth to say something, anything, and he waves a hand to dismiss it. He tells you that he knew he’d lost you as soon as he heard Billy was back in town, that he was certain last night when he asked you about it at dinner. Truth be told, I didn’t expect you to show up today he says, sounding resigned. He takes your hand. I’d rather do this now than trap you in a marriage you don’t wanna be in he says, smiling sadly. You put your arms around him, squeeze him to you. I do love you Steve you tell him, pulling back to look at him. Just not the way you love him Steve finishes, his voice soft. Go on he says, go. You look down at your hand, slip your ring off your finger. You place it on his palm, fold his fingers over it. Your voice is a whisper as you tell him that one day, somebody is going to be so, so lucky to be Mrs Harrington. He laughs. You brush his cheeks with your lips, whisper thank you in his ear, and then you’re turning, walking out of the church, oblivious to the murmurs and gasps and stares of the congregation around you. You step out into the sunlight, pulling the veil from your head as you walk, untangling it from your hair, let it fall from your fingers to the ground and then you’re running. Running toward the main road, dress billowing behind you, heels clacking on the sidewalk. You stop briefly to slip them off, resume your run barefoot with them in your hand. You feel free for the first time in two years.

———

You don’t run all the way to the motel. Chief Hopper pulls up beside you at some point, asks you if you’re okay. You ask if he can take you to the Starcourt Motel. Sure he says, looking confused. You drive there in silence, laughter bubbling in your chest every time you catch him looking at you out of the corner of his eye, sat there in your wedding dress, all fluff and frills.

He drops you outside the motel, watches as you walk around to Billy’s room before he drives off, shaking his head. You do laugh then, it pouring out of you, unable to stop it or quiet it. You knock on the door still giggling, but there’s just silence behind it. You can’t see anything through the window, the curtains are drawn, so you walk down to the office.

The woman on reception barely looks at you, let alone registers your bizarre appearance. Tells you the guy in 115 checked out a half hour ago. Your stomach drops. You ask if he left his address when he checked in, a phone number, anything. Nope she says, flicking through the pages of her magazine. Paid cash upfront she tells you lazily. You feel numb as you step back outside. You left it too late. You’ve lost him again. You take a few steps before your legs give way and you collapse to the floor, sobs wracking your body. Your heart is tearing in two all over again. You’re crying so hard that you don’t hear the car approaching, Ratt blasting from the speakers as it pulls into the parking lot, top down. You look up through bleary tear filled eyes, and you see him, climbing out of his car. You’re imagining things you tell yourself as you struggle to your feet. So heartbroken that you’re hallucinating. But then he turns to walk toward the office and stops dead in his tracks as he sees you, stood there in a dirty wedding dress, make up streaked down your face, hair dishevelled. He takes his aviators off slowly, takes a few steps toward you. Mrs Harrington he says, quietly, questioningly. You laugh tearfully, shake your head. No you whisper, biting your lip. It breaks the spell. You run to each other, throw yourself into each other’s arms, kiss each other fiercely, passionately. You came back you say between kisses, covering his entire face with them as you cling to him like a drowning woman. Forgot my toothbrush he says with a grin, and you throw your head back and laugh. He cups your face in his hands, thumbs at the corner of your mouth. Maybe I just needed an excuse to come back he whispers, and you smile as you claim his lips again.

———

Your eyelids flutter as you wake slowly, Billy’s voice telling you to wake up, open your eyes baby. You’ve been travelling for three days now, taking it in turns to drive, singing along to the radio with the top down. You stay in roadside motels at night, making love until the sun comes up, not wanting to waste a single moment together. You’ve got two years to catch up on. You can’t keep your hands off each other, can’t stop touching the other, as if you’re both afraid one of you might disappear if you do. You whisper sweet nothings as you love each other, telling him you’ll be his forever as he moves inside you, hear him tell you he’s never letting you go as he takes you. You never want it to end. He tells you he loves you every night, every morning, every opportunity he gets, trying to fill the memory of all the times he couldn’t say it even when he felt it.

He’s stroking your leg as he wakes you gently. Open your eyes he’s saying, look, look out there. You rub your eyes sleepily as you sit up, the wind whipping your hair around your face. The sun is setting, the sky the deepest shade of crimson. Your gaze follows Billy’s arm as he points over the steering wheel, and suddenly the trees to the left fall away as the road turns a corner and you can see the ocean, sprawling beneath you, blood red as the sun sinks into it on the horizon. You twist your fingers into his as you gaze at it, breathtaking and beautiful. It reminds you of Billy. He lifts your entwined hands to his face, presses his lips to your knuckles. His voice is a whisper. Welcome home baby. You sigh as you rest your head on his shoulder as he drives, finally content. This is home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the chapter titles in this fic are lines from songs that I was listening to when writing them, I’ve made a list for anyone who wants to have a listen. 
> 
> 1-3 Placebo - Nancy Boy  
> 4 INXS - Need You Tonight  
> 5 Kings Of Leon - Sex On Fire  
> 6 Staind - It’s Been Awhile  
> 7 Arctic Monkeys - Do I Wanna Know?  
> 8 Hailee Steinfeld - Rock Bottom  
> 9 Joan Jett & The Blackhearts - I Hate Myself For Loving You  
> 10 Billy Ocean - Red Light Spells Danger  
> 11 REO Speedwagon - Keep On Loving You  
> 12 Niall Horan - Slow Hands  
> 13 Texas - In Demand  
> 14 Amy Winehouse - You Know I’m No Good  
> 15 Mumford and Sons - Lover Of The Light  
> 16 Fine Young Cannibals - She Drives Me Crazy  
> 17 Queens Of The Stone Age - Make It Wit Chu  
> 18 Skid Row - I Remember You  
> 19 Poison - Every Rose Has It’s Thorn  
> 20 Don Henley - Boys Of Summer


End file.
